


Someone Alive

by themoonandotherslikeit



Category: City of Angels - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Angel!Castiel, Angst, Cancer, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fire, Firefighter!Dean, Fluff, Language, Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, angel!cas - Freeform, dog!Sam, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandotherslikeit/pseuds/themoonandotherslikeit
Summary: After a millennia of keeping humanity at a distance, the angel Castiel finds himself looking into the eyes of Dean Winchester, a firefighter that carries pain like a badge of honor, who looks right back at Castiel like he’s a man and not an angel. For the first time he’s begun to wonder what it would be like to be loved, to be human.Dean Winchester never expected to fall in love with anyone– let alone a strange man in a trench coat who seems to appear randomly, says the strangest things, and looks at him like no one has before, past his facade, his skin, and directly into his soul. In the wake of danger in his job at the fire station, and the way that Dean can’t stop thinking about Cas no matter how hard he tries, Dean begins to think he’s been wrong about love this whole time. At least he does until he learns that Castiel is an angel.How can the two men bridge the gap between their two worlds without losing something in the process? Can Castiel risk everything to fall and rebel from heaven for just a taste of Dean, just to feel his breath on Castiel’s lips? Can Dean allow Castiel to give up everything for him? Or is any of it even up to them in the first place?
Relationships: Cas/Dean - Relationship, Castiel/Dean, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Lisa, Destiel, Lisa/Dean
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71
Collections: SPN Media Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _For Ella and Giulia. I wouldn't have written this without your inspiration and support._
> 
> **Art by[Hitori Alouette](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844076) and Beta'd by thescreechowl**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

How does it feel?

 _Falling._ Castiel knew that falling was defined as a verb, to move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level. 

_Touch._ How does it feel? They were just words, concepts. He understood them as a functionality, just another thing that happens like the wind or the sunrise. They are not required to have a meaning, not everything does. 

Castiel was a man of faith, he had to be, but sometimes he still wondered. When he saw the leaves move with the breeze, a bird with its outstretched wings gliding through the sky, or the lapping waves of Lake Michigan against the harbor. 

What was cool, warm, _sweet_ , soft, gentle, rough? _How does it feel?_

He wore sensible shoes, when it wasn’t necessary for him to wear shoes at all, but suddenly he was glad that he had them. He stared at the city, his toes hanging over the edge of the scaffolding. His arms extended like wings, his trench coat catching the wind and flapping wildly, but even then he didn’t have the answers. He only had a _taste,_ a longing for the tug of gravity, for just a brush of something _real_. 

He didn’t know how it felt. He didn’t know how any of it felt, and all he could hear was the echo of a voice inside his head, _“I need to be with someone alive.”_ What was a life anyway? It was all so meaningless, but as the sun rose in the distance, the shape of the buildings just a dark silhouette against the bleeding pink and orange sky, he heard the music. It was a song familiar, like a mother rocking her child to sleep, a hum deep in his soul, shaking him to his core. 

There was a majesty, a mystery to a plane of the world that he couldn’t reach out and grasp, that had no definition - like the song within the sunset. But some things don’t need to be defined. Perhaps it was better to leave the mystery, the vague idea of something more, or perhaps it wasn’t. 

_Before_

“Winchester what the fuck are you doing here? This is your off time, go be off,” Lieutenant Bobby Singer grouched as he walked out into the common area of the fire station. 

Dean sat with his feet up, reading the newspaper. He offered a huge smile to his Lieutenant. “I am off, _see_?” 

“Don’t buy it for a second. Go home.” 

“Come on Bobby,” Dean whined. “Just let me hang around here, I’m not botherin’ anybody.” 

“You’re bothering _me_. Git.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He placed his feet on the ground with a huff of complaint, and walked to his quarters to grab his bag. He hated going home, if he was being honest. It was lonely in his one bedroom loft, he preferred the loud, busy chatter of the fire station. He flopped down on his bed, his head resting on his pillow. He didn’t function well on breaks, it wasn't in his blood to stay still. The guys were always trying to get him to take a damn vacation, and he always told them that vacation wasn’t in his vocabulary. 

There was a groan from the bunk above him, the bed springs sagging as his roommate shifted in his bed. “Brother, what’re you still doing here?” 

“Mind your own, Benny.” 

Benny chuckled and leaned over the edge. He smiled down at him sleepily through a full beard. “What’s your obsession with this place, anyway?”

“Don’t have any other friends.” 

“You don’t have _any_ friends, brother,” Benny laughed, sitting all the way up with a stretch. “Fuck, I should probably get up and around, and you should go home. Really.” 

“Buzzkills, all of you.” 

“Go have sex with your pretty girlfriend, some of us would kill to have that to go home to.” 

“She ain’t home.” 

“Where is she?” 

“She’s a pharmaceutical rep, she travels a lot. She’s on the coast now, I think,” Dean said, almost sounding bored. He’d been with Lisa since graduating from college. When they were together, things were good, and when they were apart, there were no strings. It worked for them. Dean could burst into flames and know that she wasn’t waiting around for him, worrying. The perks of having no family was that he didn’t have to worry about his own safety. He could just focus on putting out fires and saving people. It’s all he’d ever wanted to do. 

Benny’s feet hung over the side of the bunk, his bare toes uncomfortably close to Dean’s face. “Then go have some phone sex or grab a beer. Get a hobby, because if Singer finds you in here he’s going to be pissed.” 

“Eh, he’s always pissed. It’s his default emotion.” The bed creaked as the heavy man above him hopped down, giving Dean a full shot of his hairy ass. “Aw Christ, Benny. _Really_?” Dean groaned, covering his eyes. “God, I can’t unsee that.” 

“Kiss my ass, Winchester.” 

“Bend over and give me something to kiss then, princess.” 

“You wish.” He moved his fingers a bit to see if his friend was decent again, just to catch him shrugging into this shirt, his ass out of view again. 

“I told you I’m lonely, don’t tempt me,” he joked. 

The familiar sound of the alarm began beeping, lights flashing - alerting them that they were needed on site. 

_“Yes!”_ Dean grinned, hopping up. “I knew I should stay.” 

Benny was shrugging into his pants and shoes. “No way, man. Singer will kill you if he sees you out on the job. You’re off duty.” 

“Not anymore! I’m not letting you take on the job without me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Benny mumbled, jogging out of the room and down the hallway. 

Dean followed him with a laugh, matching his pace. He patted Benny’s back and offered him a wide grin. “Don’t call me by my true name, can’t have the other guys knowing.” 

“Shut up,” Benny laughed, shaking his head. 

This was Dean’s favorite part. The anticipation before, wrapping his legs and hands around the cool metal, sliding down. He slid into his clothes perfectly in less than sixty seconds, pants, boots, suspenders, coat, SCBA, SCBA mask, hood, helmet, and gloves. He was fast, much faster than Benny who always stumbled around when it came to his boots, leaving Dean snickering inside of his mask. He slid into the truck. 

He’d wanted to be a firefighter his entire life. When he was a child, his mother died in a fire, trapped in the house. They couldn’t get to her and his father pulled him out, the flames licking at their ankles. The firemen let him sit in the truck, and he got to watch as they put out the flames. He watched as one man ran in, bravely pulling his mother from the second story window. She died of smoke damage at the hospital later that night, but Dean never forgot. His own father wasn’t brave enough to go after his Mom, but the stranger in the heavy gear did, without a second thought. 

Dean was four years old, and his future was suddenly laid out in front of him. He bought a fireman's hat from the dollar store with the money that he stole from his Dad’s wallet when he was passed out drunk. 

He was desperate to find the bravery that the men who tried to save his mom had. Even an ounce of it could’ve changed everything. So he went on every run that he could, he trained as hard as possible. He was a smartass, but he was damn good at his job. No one complained when they saw that Winchester had snuck onto the truck, _again_. 

Dean always said that he was gum stuck to the fire station’s shoe. They couldn’t get rid of him no matter how much they tried. They were stuck with him, and as much as they bitched, he knew that they were happy that he was there. Benny settled next to him, and Dean slapped his back approvingly. 

The rest of the crew consisted of three other firemen. Jo, the petite blonde who was good at squeezing into smaller spaces. She kept up with the boys just fine, meeting every one of Dean’s snarky comments with one of her own. The night that she hustled him in poker she gained his respect and all of the money in his wallet. Kevin the genius kid, who was so good at building structures that he often mapped out their entire entrance plan, making him invaluable to the team. Last but not least, Jack Kline rounded off the group. He was the youngest in the group, brand new and fresh out of fire science camp. He had graduated early, taking classes during his junior year, so there he was: twenty years old, not even old enough to drink, drowning in his gear. Dean was gladder than ever that he decided to stick around. They were going to need him. 

They arrived at the fire first, an apartment building was caught on fire. In the briefing Kevin explained that the fire seemed to be coming from one of the mid level apartments and was spreading upwards. Evidently the old building was extremely flammable, by the time they arrived the flames were licking out of the windows, black heavy smoke curling up into the sky. 

Dean clicked on his oxygen, itching to run right into the shit. He’d gotten a talking to more than once about zipping in without orders, but he always got the job done, saved the unsaveable, he didn’t make mistakes. So he continued to be reckless, because sometimes that was what needed to be done to save the most people. At least that’s what he told himself. 

The police had already sectioned off the building to keep the civilians away, the lower levels were already evacuated and Dean could see soot-covered individual’s being checked out by EMS. 

Kevin rolled out the schematics of the building to show the team. His mask was up so he could talk them through the plan, but Dean felt the itch, something deep inside of this gut that told him he needed to go right then. It was almost like a heavy hand on his shoulder, a tap telling him that it was time to run, that he didn’t have the time to stand around staring at maps. Maybe he did have a death wish, or maybe it was something else altogether, but regardless of the reasoning, he turned away from his team, saluting Benny, and running into the building. 

The lowest level of the building was filled with heavy smoke that seemed to have creeped through the vents and down the steps of the building. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was left behind, but the coast seemed clear. He jogged to the stairs, checking his weight on them before determining that there wasn’t enough damage to cause him any real difficulties. 

The higher he climbed, the harder it was to see. The next floor up was heavy with smoke, and he squinted through his mask. His adrenaline pumped through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears. There were people up there that needed to be saved, and it was Dean’s responsibility to get to them. 

“Hey, idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Jo buzzed into his ear piece. 

He groaned. They’d recently updated their radios, and he still wasn’t used to hearing them essentially inside of his head. “Savin’ people. You know, the job,” he said back to her into his mic. “Rooms clear on the second floor.” 

“You’re fast, Winchester, I’ll give you that. Don’t go up any further without backup.” 

“What? You’re breaking up,” he said, making _chhhh_ noises. 

“I’m going to break something on you! Stay where you are, I’m coming to you!” 

It was some kind of miracle that Dean hadn’t been fired already, no pun intended. He was garbage at directions, and he was always getting into sticky situations. Sticky situations that he always managed to get out of, and he supposed that was why he still had a job. 

He grumbled and awkwardly stood where he was, deciding that he should probably wait for Jo. It was the right thing to do. It would be shitty of him to leave her all alone in a major fire. At least that’s what he thought until he heard the sound of the building groaning above him. It was going to come down, that was obvious, he just didn’t know how fast. “Jo,” he said into the mic. “Don’t come up, it’s not stable.” 

“Come back down, Dean. We can go up through the window.” 

“Can’t, already this far,” he said, not intending to blatantly disobey her, but fuck he wasn’t going to walk out when there were still several floors left that he had yet to sweep. Before she could respond, a cry cut through the air, through the smoke, and through the thick material covering his ears, and he had no idea how he didn’t hear it before. “Fuck, there’s a kid up here. I’m going up.” 

“Dean!” 

If Jo said anything in addition, he didn’t hear her. He was too busy running. He climbed upwards, not bothering to test for weight, which was an amateur move. He was hyper focused on the sound of the child crying out. He would get to the kid, and get him or her out as quickly as possible. He would save the little one no matter what. When he reached the next level he finally saw the flames. The third floor was clearly the originating location of the fire. Flames licked out of the open doors and out into the hallway. 

Even after all the fires that he’d been a part of he still wasn’t used to breathing easy in the midst of all of the heavy smoke. He listened hard, waiting for another wail to tell him which direction he should be going in. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think, to _focus_. He knew he could find the kid, and as if he summoned it himself, a cry erupted from his left. 

He turned sharply and approached the door. He tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. He quickly eyeballed the doorframe to get a good idea of its stability. He had no real reason to think that it’d crash down around him, so he backed up a bit, and kicked at the door as hard as he could. Kicking down a door wasn’t as easy as it looked on television and even after some practice it still took a few tries before he was able to break through. The door swung open and he immediately shielded his face as the fire reached out toward the oxygen in the hallway.

He pushed through into the apartment, and it was so much worse than he expected. The ceiling groaned angrily above him, threatening to collapse, and just about every surface was engulfed in flames. He couldn’t see shit, let alone a little kid. He went through the house, looking behind furniture and inside closets, but he wasn't getting anywhere. His stomach twisted, as he realized that he might never get to the kid. Not the way he was going. Jo was screaming in his ear, but he tuned her out. 

Dean knew that it only took a single second, a thought, a breath to change his world forever. So he pulled off his mask, and he shouted as loud as he could. “Where are you? I’m here to save you!” 

He squinted in the smoke. “I heard you crying!” _Come on, damn it!_ It didn't take long for him to already start feeling lightheaded, and he thought that maybe he’d imagined the cry all along. “My name’s Dean,” he called out weakly, feeling like it was a sad attempt at putting the mystery child at ease, but something must have made a connection, because just as he opened his mouth to call out again he was met with a small squeak that sounded a lot like his name. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m here! Where are you?” He followed the soft sound of the child’s voice over the angry, roaring fire, trying his damndest to get to the kid before the roof came crashing down. “What’s your name?” 

“Charlie,” she said, poking her head out from behind the washing machine. 

Dean let out a sigh and smiled. “Hey Charlie, you’re safe now. M’ere.” He turned his head to speak into the microphone. “Jo, I found the kid. I’m gonna get her and head down.” 

“Good, you idiot! Which side of the building are you on? We are bringing the ladder to you. The building is unstable, and the Super says that he has a good headcount of the tenants. We think the building is clear.” 

“North side,” he grunted. “Heard.” 

He crouched down and offered the little girl with two red pigtails a big smile. She coughed in response, her pale, thin fingers tightly gripping a stuffed dragon. 

“Your chest hurt?”

She nodded lightly and he pulled his oxygen away from his helmet and offered it to her. 

“Breathe in, okay? Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.” 

Her pale cheeks were covered in soot along with her nightgown, and Dean had to wonder where her parents were. “Are you alone? 

She nodded quickly again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, spreading the soot. He stood up, backing out of the small opening so she could get out. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too hot for my taste, what about you?” He offered her a hand, and she nodded up at him, reaching out her own hand.

It happened so fast. It was another moment, a split second rift in the space-time continuum that would change his life forever. Her fingers didn’t even brush his before a loud crack erupted through the apartment. Charlie recoiled into herself, pulling her arm back into the gap next to the washer, directly under a shelf. He reached back for her, feeling like he was moving in slow motion against the pulse of the flames and the haze of heat radiating through the air. 

Dean wasn’t even able to suck in his breath before the ceiling collapsed. The support beam above them holding everything together broke right between them, crashing into the floor with so much force that it busted a hole right through the already-burning floor. Ash, flames, and smoke littered his vision and he had to blink it all away, narrowing his eyes to focus. 

He was on the ground, the falling debris having landed directly on him, and he was fucking glad that he had kept his helmet on. He couldn’t move. He was trapped. The adrenaline pumping through him made sure that he was numb from his shoulder down to his fingers. _That can’t be good_. He tugged gently and a white hot pain shot up his arm into his shoulder, which surprisingly felt like a good sign. He knew that at least his arm was still under there somewhere. His eyes scanned the tube going from his oxygen tank that had been connecting him and Charlie together. It was pinned underneath the rubble. “Charlie! Hey! Kid, can you hear me?” 

He coughed, his chest burning. He’d been in here too damn long. Heat licked at his cheeks and every breath was hard labor. He pulled on his arm again, feeling the true weight of the beam against his likely-broken bones. The impact fucked up his radio, and all he heard was static where Jo’s voice used to be. He never thought he’d miss the sound of her nagging, but it was all about perspective, he reckoned. 

The weight of the smoke was heavy on his tired lungs and his arm cried out in pain. All of those moments that he was told to slow down felt just a little more justified to him now. “Charlie.” His voice was weaker, his vision blurring as he tried to see her in the rubble. 

He always assumed that he would die trying to be a hero, although most would probably say that he’d die doing something pigheaded. He figured this was as good of a compromise as any. 

It came like a ping, and Castiel knew where to go. Death was a part of life, and it was his job to help the wary souls pass through the gate into heaven. He often approached the situation with eager anticipation, and when little Charlie Bradbury’s face flashed in front of his eyes, the ache in his chest that was always there pressed a little more insistently. 

He could move with a single thought. It was not like most people assumed, there were no large fantastical wings, adorned with thousands of golden feathers. He instinctively reached back behind him, grasping for the place where his wings would’ve been. Compared to what people expected, his travel was lackluster at best, but it was effective nonetheless. 

The apartment was on fire, blazing angrily around him. By the look of things, it had to be hot, painfully so, but he couldn’t feel the heat on his face, and there was no risk of danger to him as his eyes scanned for Charlie. 

His eyes were made to locate lost souls, which glowed radiantly, even as they still lingered inside of their bodies. It wasn’t difficult to locate her once he adjusted his perception. She was lodged underneath collapsed ceiling materials, gasping for breath. A piece of wood had pierced her chest, and she was still trying to breathe into her oxygen mask. The tube ran underneath the rubble and connected to a man. Castiel hadn’t noticed him previously. 

He stepped over the collapsed ceiling and crouched next to him, he had to wait for Charlie to disconnect, anyway, so Castiel had a little time. He was a fireman, still completely in his gear apart from his mask that was given to the little girl. His face was covered in soot, but even through the black, Castiel could see that his cheekbones were dusted with freckles. The fireman’s full lips were open, his breaths weak and labored. It wasn’t his time, Castiel knew, but his arm was trapped below the fallen beam. He looked like he’d given up. 

He wasn’t granted the ability to perform miracles, but there was still something that he could do. There was always something. Castiel reached out his hand and pressed his open palm to the man’s chest. _Dean Winchester_. The name rushed into his mind in an instant, and Castiel focused on his own grace, willing Dean to breathe in deeply, for his lungs to repel the smoke long enough for him to get to safety. He focused his strength on giving Dean the will to live. Sometimes that was enough. 

The fireman’s eyes shot open as he sucked in a deep, easy breath. He coughed a few times, spitting up black saliva, and then Dean looked at him. His face was a breath away from Castiel’s, his green eyes were alert and Castiel wished that he could see his own reflection in them. He knew that if he had the need to breathe, that Dean would’ve taken his breath away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, to ask Dean if he could see him, but Dean’s eyes flickered away, and he pulled on his arm again. 

The arm was stuck, Castiel saw that it was too much for him to pull himself free. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t shake that look that Dean had given him. He stood up to full height and reached down, pulling up the beam just enough for Dean to pull his arm free. Dean winced, and laughed breathlessly. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

_You’re welcome_ , Castiel thought, not trusting his own voice. 

Dean’s arm was twisted wrong, blood staining his rig, but despite the pain that he had to be in, he hurried to his feet and began to call out. “Charlie, hey kid! Can you hear me?” 

Castiel closed his eyes for just a second at the realization that Dean was in the fire to save her. He was trying to save someone that could not be saved. There was a rustling, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean throwing pieces of rubble away, exposing the little girl lying on her back gasping for breath. It was too late, it would’ve always been too late. 

“No, no, no!” Dean fell back to his knees, moving the useless mask away from her bluing lips. He put his ear next to her mouth looking for breathing signs, and his fingers pressed to her throat searching for a pulse. 

Castiel had been an observer in many tragedies, and he’d seen the way people react to situations of dire emergency, but what he saw Dean do surprised him, and he hadn’t been aware that he could still be surprised. 

Dean took his broken arm, pressing his palm against her sternum with a wince, and he pressed his other palm over the bottom one, lacing his fingers. He was counting, low, his voice full of pain as he pressed down on her chest, trying to get her heart to start back up. Tears streamed down his cheeks. _“Live_ , damn it!” 

Something was stirring inside of Castiel, something that he didn’t know was possible, something that he didn’t yet have a name for. 

“You ain’t taking her. You hear me?” A pair of green eyes met Castiel’s again, causing him to still completely. Dean was looking _at_ him, like he was a man. “Not today! Not on my watch!” 

Dean looked wary as he turned his face back down to Charlie, still pushing with all that he could, but the fire was still intense and rising around him. Castiel frowned, knowing that she was a lost cause, but not knowing how to communicate that to the stubborn man fighting in front of him. 

Castiel was fixed on the movement of Dean’s body as he attempted to pump life back into Charlie when he noticed a small tug at his trench coat. He glanced down to find Charlie Bradbury standing next to him in her pajamas, her skin and clothes clean. She glowed brightly as she blinked at Castiel confused. “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel,” he said, crouching down at her level. He offered his hand out to her, and she stared at it suspiciously. He smiled at her. People often thought that children were far too trusting, but he found that their honesty made them trusting of only those who deserved it. “Come with me.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he said simply and as their fingers brushed he sent a rush of calm through her. She exhaled in response, her eyes fluttering shut. 

There was a crash, a breaking of glass in the other room. “Dean,” someone called out. It was a female voice. Dean called out something that Castiel wasn’t sure was even English, sending the female firefighter bursting through the flames in his direction. “We have to go, idiot.” She stopped, her eyes settling on Dean and Charlie’s lifeless body. She shook her head. “Oh Dean, come on, we have to go. How long has she been down?”

“I can get her, I can…” 

“Come on, let me help.” She crouched down, putting her arm under Charlies neck, holding her. 

His shoulders slumped. He stopped pressing against her chest. “No, I’ll take her,” Dean said, defeat in his voice. He slid his broken arm under Charlie’s body, protectively holding her against his chest. 

The woman offered him a fire resistant blanket to wrap around the little girl’s frail, limp form, and she led Dean to the window. 

“Mister Castiel?” Charlie asked, looking up at him.

He blinked a few times, not realizing how long he’d been staring. “Yes, little one?”

“Is Grandpa there?” 

He nodded quickly. “Yes, he is waiting.” 

“Let’s go,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. 

So Castiel gripped her hand a little tighter, feeling the need to keep her close to him after watching Dean try so hard to fight for her, try just to fail. It was so beautifully human. He turned, seeing the white glowing light of the door to Heaven swinging open for them, and they walked easily over the rubble and through the fire, into the next life. 

“But Lieutenant!” 

“But _nothin’_ ya idjit!” Singer shouted back. 

Dean sat in his office, his face down turned in embarrassment. He had climbed down the ladder, holding Charlie in his arms, and delivered her lifeless body to her weeping mother. His arm was twisted all to hell, and he was going to have to be in a cast for at least two weeks to fix it. He had other burns and serious smoke damage, but more than anything his ass was getting skinned by his boss. “I was tryin’...” 

“I don’t give a shit, Winchester,” Singer sighed, scratching his beard. “Listen, son, I know what you were trying to do. The fact is that you ignored my direct orders and went on the run, and then you ignored more and got yourself hurt.” 

_And I didn’t even save her_. He wanted to scream, break his fucking arm again. “So what?”

He shook his head, leaning across the chest. “You’re suspended until I get a call from your doc sayin’ that you’re permitted to come back. So go home, rest, and get your fucking life together.” He waved his hand, dismissing Dean. 

Dean knew that he was being let off easy, and maybe it was the fact that Lieutenant Bobby Singer had a soft spot for him, or maybe it was the fact that Dean almost killed himself trying to save a seven year old girl that he couldn’t save. 

He couldn’t save her, but the girl's mother still hugged him tightly and cried. He was invited to the funeral, and if he was being honest, it all seemed like way too fucking much. But he was a glutton for punishment, so he knew that he wouldn’t miss it for anything. 

He stood up and walked out of the office, and went straight to his bunk to grab the rest of his stuff. He’d already moved a few things, expecting nothing less than a suspension. Singer was chomping at the bit to get him to take some time off, so the required time off was a good compromise. 

He adjusted the sling on his arm, the strap rubbing against his neck. He grabbed his clothes, shoving them haphazardly into his duffle bag. Jo leaned against the doorframe of his quarters. “Got the boot?” 

Dean snorted and glanced at her. “Singer doesn’t want to see my face until my doc says I’m healed.” He waved his bad arm with a wince. 

“I’ll miss your face around here, Dean, but if you keep at it you’ll end up getting yourself killed. Maybe a little vacation will be good for you.” 

“Smug doesn’t suit you, Harvelle,” Dean grumbled. 

“Everything suits me,” she said dismissively. 

He zipped up his duffel with his one arm with some difficulty and a grunt. He picked it up and swung it over his uninjured shoulder. “You seen Sam anywhere?” 

“Benny drove him home when you were getting patched up.” 

“Great.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t need help with anything before I go, do you?” 

“Nu uh, Winchester,” Jo said, walking towards him and taking his arm. “I am not going to help you disobey orders. Get the fuck out.” She dragged him out to the front of the firehouse. “I’ll see you later, okay? I got you a Netflix subscription. I texted you the login details.” 

Dean stumbled out into the street, the clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the sun. He grimaced at the sky, feeling like the weather was a little too on the nose with how he was feeling. He made his way to the Loop and found one of the only seats away from other people, his bag resting on his lap. He stared out the window, watching Chicago zip past him in a blur. 

He’d lived in the same old Brownstone his entire life. They’d redone the inside of the house after the fire, so the inside was different but still the same. When he looked really closely, he could still see the scorch marks under the paint on the ceiling in their bedroom. He used it as his office now, but he was rarely there, keeping the door shut at almost all times. 

Dean’s father had disappeared into the night. It was the typical cliche, he went out for cigarettes and never came back. He’d had a revolving door of family members watching over him and the apartment until he turned eighteen two years later. It was already paid for, his grandfather Henry having purchased it with the little money he had coming home from the war when he was young. Dean couldn’t give it up, no matter how much he hated being there, no matter how much his old bedroom kept him from sleeping.

He hopped off the Loop a few blocks away from his place and enjoyed the fresh air, because he knew that the next few weeks would be suffocating. He could already feel the pressure on his chest, constricting his lungs. He unlocked the front door, taking one last deep breath before he crossed the threshold. 

“Sam,” he called out, tossing his duffel bag on the couch. “They suspended me! That’s some bullshit, right?” 

He walked to the fridge and swung it open, grinning wide as soon as he saw that Benny had stocked it full of beer. He pulled one out, struggling with the bottle opener with only one good hand. “Everyone is pissed that I went in against orders. I was just tryin’ to save her, and maybe if I’d got there sooner…” He finally got the cap off, letting out a heavy sigh. He took a swig of his beer and leaned against the counter. “Sammy, you listening to me? Are you mad at me too? Sam?” 

Dean heard the footsteps before he saw him. He turned and crouched down to catch his massive chocolate lab in his good arm. He wrapped it around the dog's neck, scratching behind his ears. “Aw, Sammy I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.” He laughed as Sam licked his cheek. 

He was never a dog person before he got Sam, but on one of the first house fires that he worked, he’d seen this little puppy in the corner, howling and whimpering. He couldn’t just leave the poor thing there to burn, so he carried him out of the burning building and fell in love with the little guy. It wasn’t often that dogs were allowed in firehouses anymore, but the entire team loved Sammy. He was quiet and well behaved, and when Dean went home he took Sam with him. He liked to joke that Sam was the only other living being that he could live with permanently since everyone else drove him stir-crazy. Sammy was happy to see him no matter what he did, and he didn’t give him that disappointed look that everyone else seemed to have. 

“Just me and you for a few weeks, buddy,” Dean murmured, scratching behind his ear, already feeling the quiet from his apartment creep around him like smoke, like a curse. 

Castiel stood on top of Willis Tower, overlooking Chicago as it transitioned from day to night. All the flights flickered in, illuminating the thousands, _millions_ of angels standing around the city on street corners, ledges of buildings, lamp posts, vehicles… everywhere the air touched was also touched by an angel. They were the soldiers, the messengers of god. 

There was a sound of flapping, for just a moment, as if Hannah was taking land as she appeared next to Castiel with only a thought, a breath. She wore a simple suit, much like Castiel’s own. Her hair was plain brown, simple, but she was pretty in her own regard. She was his very best friend, if angels had such a thing. 

“Castiel,” Hannah said pleasantly, lowering herself to a seated position so her legs hung off the edge of the building. He followed suit, sitting next to her. 

They did this every day, sitting on the edge of the buildings and watching the sun disappear over the horizon. They sat, talked, and when the last rays of sun touched the earth they were quiet. 

“I escorted a little girl today,” he said, squinting at the buildings, his hands clasped in his lap. 

“What was her favorite part?” Hannah asked. She could seem disinterested, but for most of Castiel’s brothers and sisters it was just easier that way. Angels were not known to have the capacity to _feel_ , so most didn’t bother to fake it. 

For Castiel, though, it was different. His curiosity with humanity often pushed him to the edge of what was expected of him. He’d always been a bit of a black sheep. 

He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small notebook. He licked his index finger to catch a page, turning it easily. Hannah gave him a look, like she didn’t quite understand, but she was quiet nonetheless. “Her favorite part of being human,” Castiel said lightly, with a smile, “was the marshmallows in her morning Lucky Charms.” 

“Sugar,” Hannah said with a knowing nod. “Not quite insightful.” 

It wasn’t, but he still wondered. How did it _taste_? He tried to close his eyes sometimes and imagine it, just for a moment. He tried to imagine what one of those tiny morsels would feel like on his tongue, melting away, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t grasp onto it. Most days, those thoughts left him more hollow than ever, the emptiness whistling through him like through a chip in a glass. 

“She asked if she could become an angel,” he said quietly. 

“Did you tell her the truth?” 

“I didn’t want to upset her.” 

“Castiel, she can’t be an angel.” She reached for the hand of her friend and patted it gently. “We were never human.” 

“I know.” Castiel let out a heavy sigh. 

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth, but I did offer to make her wings out of paper.” He turned to Hannah, offering her a wide grin. 

“And what did she say about that?” 

“She said, what good would wings be if you couldn't feel the wind on your face?” His voice was solemn, quiet, catching the breeze and floating away with it. He reached his hand out for the breeze, trying desperately to feel something, _anything_. “Do you ever wonder what that would be like?”

“What are you asking?”

“Touch… do you ever wonder what it would be like to _feel_?”

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, in a thought, a consideration. Her eyes were focused elsewhere, out into the distance, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he’d never heard her so hesitant, so unsure. It wasn’t in their nature. “No.” 

He could feel the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile. “Did you just _lie_ to me?”

Her eyes flickered to his, and she pursed her lips. “Of course not. It’s pointless to wonder about things that you’ll never experience. It is a waste of time. You should stop this nonsense, Castiel, it may get you in trouble one day.” 

He knew that, of course he did, but he couldn’t stop, not until the questions that plagued him had answers, and another one had been drilling into his mind since the moment he saw Dean Winchester’s magical green eyes lock with his in the midst of that fire. “Hannah, have you ever been seen?”

“My, you are inquisitive today.” She laughed to herself, a small exhale out of her nose, before her dark eyes flickered to his blue ones. “Of course not, Castiel. Humans can’t see us, not unless we want them to.” 

“When I went to get the little girl today… there was this fireman, and I could’ve sworn that he looked right at me.” 

“He wasn’t looking _at_ you.” 

Castiel swallowed hard, because he knew that she was right. Dean wasn’t looking at him, he was looking directly into him, past the outer layers and into his soul. 

Hannah must’ve noticed his hesitation, because she leaned in closer to him. “You didn’t let him see you, did you, Castiel?” 

Did he? He shook his head. “No. He didn’t… comment on what he saw, but he seemed like he was looking at me.” 

“Your head is in the clouds,” she said fondly, turning her face back out to the sparkling lights from the city. 

That was him, Castiel, the angel with his head in the clouds, but was that so unreasonable? To him, it seemed like a logical place for an angel’s head to be. The time for talk, questions, and judgement was over, because the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, emitting a beautiful hum almost like the first note on a violin. Even though he didn’t know God personally, his purpose, or why he couldn’t get those green eyes out of his mind, at least he had the song in the sunset, because when he heard it, feeling it rush through him into his bones, he had all the answers that he needed. That song gave him faith. That song helped him see God. 

But that day, in that exact moment, the song sounded different… It sounded like Dean. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

The hospital smelled sterile, and Dean hated it. The long white walls against checkered tile floors made his skin crawl, but if he wasn’t going to be allowed inside the fire station, the hospital was the next best place he could be. 

“Dean?” 

He let out the breath he’d been holding and painted on his best boyfriend smile. “Hey Lis.” 

She’d been leaning on her rolling suitcase, her tight pencil skirt hugging every curve and treating them damn right. She abandoned the suitcase immediately to run to him, stopping in her tracks when her eyes settled on his arm. “What in the hell?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Liar. What’d you do?” She asked, closing the space between them. She gestured for him to hand over his forearm. 

“Ran into a fire.” 

Lisa’s tongue ran across her bottom lip, smudging her red lipstick. “Did you save them?”

He was quiet, staring at her deep brunette hair that fell along her shoulders in loose, effortless waves. He wished he could wrap himself up within it and drown. He didn’t know how he was going to survive, how he could possibly end all of it. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, understanding. “I can come over tonight. We can order in.”

“Yeah,” he said with a quick nod. “Sammy will be happy to see you.”

“Great. I just need to wrap up here. I’ll meet you at nine?”

“Sure. I’ll order a pizza.” 

Lisa leaned forward and left a quick kiss on his cheek. It was informal, almost as if he were a relative instead of her boyfriend. She was in town after all, so they were _on_. 

He wiggled his fingers in a goodbye wave as he watched her hips swing and her bag drag behind her, the wheels clicking against the tile. He let out a sigh that he didn’t know he was holding. 

He’d come to the hospital to see one of the guys that lived in the building that had caught on fire. He was neighbors with Charlie’s mom, Mary Beth. She was a young mother, about his age, and Dean would never forget the look on her face as he laid her tiny, broken daughter in her arms. He found out later that she had some burns that required medical intervention. She’d run back into the fire for Charlie, but was pulled out by her neighbor. She was a single mother, and now, because of Dean, she was completely alone. She was already discharged, but he was going stir crazy. He wanted to look at the man that was brave enough to rush after a grieving mother to save her life, and he wanted to shake the guy’s hand.

Dean was around bravery every day. He was always trying to find new role models to grow into, and a civilian that would run into a burning building after a neighbor definitely fit the bill. He checked in at the nurse’s station, got a visitor pass, hurriedly scribbling his name with a sharpie, and walked back to the hospital room.

No one had specified what exactly was wrong with the guy. Dean didn’t know what his injuries were, so he was surprised, stopped cold, when he read the sign for the oncology floor. What? He waltzed right up to the nurse’s station and put on his brightest smile, imagining that he’d made a mistake. “Excuse me, ma’am. Name’s Winchester, I’m here to see a man that was involved in a fire that I worked with the CFD earlier this morning. I think I have the wrong floor, mind lookin’ for me?”

The nurse looked up at him, unimpressed and tired. “Sure, sir, what’s the patient name?”

“Gabe Messenger,” Dean said awkwardly, wondering if his broken arm messed with his charm. 

“He is in room 707. You have the correct floor.” 

He met her response with a confused frown, his forehead wrinkling. “This is the cancer ward,” he said blankly. 

“Yes,” she responded slowly, eyeing him like he’d sprouted a second head. “It’s that way, take a right and it’ll be at the end of the hall.” The nurse pointed behind her with a lazy finger. 

“Thank you,” he said, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

Dean followed her directions, his eyes scanning the passing room numbers. He turned down the appropriate hallway. It was darkly lit from a burnt out bulb at the end of the hall. He swallowed, suddenly feeling electricity in the air, like the kind that can be felt right before a lightning storm. He could feel his hair stand on end, and he instinctively reached back and flattened out the back of his hair. He approached the door only to catch sight of someone leaving the room. 

At first Dean thought the man was a doctor, but there was something about him that led Dean to believe otherwise. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean was, and he was clad in a suit and a tan trench coat. Even in the low light Dean could see that the man had blue eyes that rivaled the Caribbean sea. They flickered to Dean’s, and the man looked at him fondly, like he was an old friend. 

Dean felt cornered, like he didn’t know what to do or say. His first instinct was to run, and he wasn’t sure why, but his heart was hammering in his chest. He cleared his throat and took a step closer, even though his feet felt heavy. “Are you friends with Mr. Messenger?” He asked. _Does my voice really sound like that?_

The man’s eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder, like he couldn’t believe someone was talking to him. 

“I’m… I’m asking _you_ ,” Dean said, attempting to clarify.

Something washed over the man’s face, his muscles relaxing in awe. His full lips parted, and his eyes got a softness to them that made Dean wonder what it’d feel like to float within them. “I am… I am a friend of sorts.” The man’s voice was rough and low, like the sound of an engine. 

“Is he awake? I wanted to see him… thank him,” Dean stumbled over his words and reached back to scratch the back of his head with a wince as he stretched his injured arm.

The man was focused on Dean, as if he was seeing past his skin, into his soul. His lip twitched into a smile. “He is peaceful.”

“Oh,” Dean said awkwardly, feeling the intensity of the man’s gaze on him like a weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“You don’t have to thank him, Dean.”

His eyes flickered up, meeting the man’s own eyes. “What?”

“He did what you would have done, what you did do. You don’t have to feel guilty that she died. It’s a part of life. She’s in a better place.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. ”I don’t believe in that...”

“Some things are true, whether you believe in them or not, Dean.”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip nervously. “How do you know my name?” There was something about this guy. He was different. It was like they’d met before, even though Dean knew that they hadn’t. He’d remember. 

“You’re wearing a name tag.” 

_Oh_. 

“Right,” he said, letting out a breathless laugh. “And your name is…?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, testing the name out on his tongue. 

“Dean,” Castiel said in that rough voice that made chills rush up Dean’s spine. “You can forgive yourself. Charlie’s already forgiven you.” 

Dean turned away, rubbing his face with his good hand, as if he could push his emotions back into his skin with enough force. What was this guy thinking? _Castiel,_ _what a weird fucking name._ He didn’t have a right to talk about the things that he didn’t understand, but despite the heavy, aching guilt on his heart, Dean was inclined to believe him. It was the blue eyes, there was a kindness in them, a truth. He let out a heavy exhale. “I’ve never had faith, buddy. Don’t know about you, but that doesn’t come easy for me. ‘M not sure I’m built to just blindly accept the things that I can’t see, ya know?” He turned to catch Castiel’s gaze again, just to find himself staring at an empty hallway. He was alone.

Castiel had been watching Dean, much like he watched the others in his charge. Dean hadn’t _needed_ his help, yet Castiel found himself unable to leave. He liked the way that Dean played with his dog, the way he held onto the sides of the sink after washing his face, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He never slept, Castiel noticed. He’d just lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His mind was troubled, twisted with memories that kept him awake. 

He didn’t go to the hospital with the intention to be seen, not exactly. He intended to stay back, enjoy Dean’s presence from a distance like he was taught, but when Dean walked toward him, and his eyes landed on Castiel it was as if his life force was reaching out to the angel. 

He didn’t intend to be seen, or maybe he did, but the moment that Dean’s deep voice broke through the silence like breaking glass, it shattered and cracked the air between them, the space separating their two planes. The differences between the two men was the only thing keeping Castiel from reaching out to Dean himself. 

Dean was mortal and Castiel was something else altogether. He wasn’t human, and he didn’t _understand_ humans. He _couldn’t_ understand them, no matter how much he tried. He knew this as a fact, but when Dean looked at him, _really_ looked at him, all the facts were out the window. 

Castiel could see the guilt coming off of him in waves of energy. He’d previously heard Dean tell the nurse that he was looking for Mr. Messenger in order to thank him for his heroics, but who was thanking Dean for _his_ heroics? He’d almost died inside of that building. The kindness of humans was something that Castiel felt came directly from God, it had to. Why else would Dean willingly run into the fire for a stranger? It was something so uniquely human, and as he looked at the softness in Dean’s eyes, the crinkles of skin at the corners, he began to understand the selflessness that meant possibly dying for someone else. As he looked at Dean, he saw a man that was truly _good_. He was good to the deepest places within his soul. 

And he was looking at Castiel. 

For the first time, Castiel felt the bridge between himself and humanity begin to close, stretching out past the open void that separated them, and he felt something he’d never felt before. 

He felt afraid. 

“I’ve got pizza,” Dean announced as he opened the door, knowing well that Lisa was already there by the glowing light he could see from the street. He balanced the pizza on his good hand, struggling to push open the heavy door with his bad arm, using his hip as leverage. 

She was sitting cross-legged on one side of the chair with her reading glasses perched on her nose. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, and Sammy’s head rested on her lap, his tail wagging in his sleep. The domesticity of it all put a pit in Dean’s stomach, and he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“How’d it go?” She asked, taking the glasses off her nose and placing the book on the table next to the couch. 

“He was asleep,” Dean said with a frown. “I’m gonna try to go back tomorrow earlier in the day.” 

“Good idea,” Lisa said with a smile, stretching. The movement of her legs elicited a groan from the sleeping dog on her lap. His big sleepy brown eyes opened slowly, and the moment they caught sight of Dean, he hopped up and bounded to him. 

“Hey buddy,” Dean mused, scratching behind Sam’s ears. “Missed you, too.” He looked to Lisa. “He hates being here. He prefers the station,” Dean lied. It wasn’t Sam who hated it, and they both knew it. 

“What kind of pizza did you get?” She asked tightly, forcing a smile. 

“Meat lovers.” 

It was easier to talk about food than anything real. 

Dean walked to the counter and placed the pizza box down, opening it to pull out a gooey, cheesy slice. Lisa met him at the counter, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Does it freak you out that I was a little worried about you when I heard about the accident?”

“Is that why you’re back?” 

“No, I…” She glanced down, sheepishly. “Maybe.” 

“Thought we weren’t gonna do that, Lis.” 

“We _aren’t_ , but I still don’t want you to die, Dean.” She rolled her eyes, before pulling her hand away from his neck and to his chest. “You forgot to get rid of the name tag from the hospital.” She peeled it away and stuck it to his cast. “I won’t apologize for wanting you to live, that’s dumb,” Lisa added, grabbing the slice from his hand and turning away from him. 

Dean shook his head, ready to spark an argument about their previous agreement, but his eyes caught sight of the name tag on his arm and his blood ran cold. 

_“How do you know my name?”_

_“You’re wearing a name tag.”_

He stared at his own script on the visitor sticker in sharpie. He wasn’t sure how he didn’t remember before, maybe his mind was somewhere else, but as his eyes focused on the name tag, it read clearly: Winchester. 

_What the fuck?_

How did Castiel know his name? What kind of name was Castiel anyway? It was weird and kind of sounded like a pasta dish. 

Dean felt unsteady, but it wasn’t the usual kind that he felt when he was uncomfortable in his house or because he didn’t feel good enough. It was something else altogether. When he looked into Castiel’s blue eyes it was almost as if he was standing there naked, completely exposed, as if the man was able to see right through his skin. He was raw, unable to hide behind his usual snark and reckless behavior. 

Staring at the name tag, he felt that the world was maybe a little more surreal than he originally assumed. It was like he could feel every fiber of the adhesive backing of the sticker. It was like he could feel the dust and dead skin peel off his finger as he moved the name tag away. 

“Dean?” 

Lisa was staring at him, with a half poured glass of wine in her hand. 

“Huh?”

“Are you listening to me?”

He shook away the feelings that were crawling up his skin like spiders. “Yeah, I’m listening. Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I… I guess I just don’t feel like talking,” he admitted, his head spinning.

“We don’t have to talk,” she offered, taking a sip from her wine. Her dark eyes flickered up to meet his, full of mischief and allure. They were the direct opposite of Castiel’s: his clear, with truthful innocence, while hers were dark and full of lust.

Dean and Lisa hadn’t been good at talking for years, but sex, sex they were good at. He met her gaze with an intense heat and walked to close the space between them. 

_Later_

Dean stared at the ceiling as Lisa slept softly next to him. Her arm was slung over his midriff, and her breath tickled his bare chest. He couldn’t fucking sleep. He couldn’t ever sleep. His arm hung over the side of the bed, and Sam nudged his fingers with his nose. Dean turned to squint at the clock. It was five o’clock in the morning. He let out a quiet sigh. He had maybe slept a total of two hours, and it wasn’t consistently, but he could use Sammy as an excuse to get up and go for an early morning run. He glanced back at Lisa in the darkness, her dark hair sprawled across the sheets. She was pretty, beautiful even, but he wasn’t in a place to appreciate her. If he was a better man he would cut her loose, but more than anything he was just really fucking tired. 

He picked up her arm and rested it next to her as he slid out of bed, then wiggled into his underwear, sweatpants and T-shirt. He slid into his shoes and connected Sam’s leash to his collar before walking outside of his apartment. 

He took in a deep breath of morning air, feeling refreshed. There was something peaceful about the city at that hour, before most people woke up and started their coffee, before the loud sounds of cabs and the screech of the train polluted the air. Dean felt the most at peace early in the morning, despite not being a morning person in the slightest, but that came from his complete inability to fall asleep and stay asleep. “Let’s go, Sammy,” he said, nudging his dog forward.

Sam was fast, but he didn’t need to be told to stay next to Dean, he just did. They were an odd pair, but the way that Sam attached to Dean from that first moment had connected them forever. Dean couldn’t imagine his life without him.

They jogged together, Sam keeping a happy pace, sniffing at the cool morning air. Dean’s lungs burned, his heartbeat screaming in tandem with the throbbing in his cast. He ignored the pain and allowed his mind to wander. He thought of Castiel.

It was like hearing his name in the wind, as if Dean was whispering _Castiel,_ and it was catching the breeze. It was early in the morning and during that time, Castiel liked to watch over the new babies in the nursery at the hospital while their parents got some much needed rest. He watched their tiny bellies rise and fall with each breath. Everything was so new to them, every breath invigorating, every pain agonizing. The security they had always known was ripped away in an act of blood and noise. They quite literally came into the world screaming. 

Babies didn’t ask to be born, and Castiel didn’t ask to be an angel. He sat next to a fussy baby girl, Amara, whose bottom lip trembled with every red-faced crocodile tear. He took his hand out and rested it on her belly, sending calm through her just enough to lull her to sleep. Sometimes he wondered what it’d be like, to have the pain and the subsequent release of pain that came from healing. Instead he lived with an everlasting emptiness that gnawed at him like a hunger. 

His name came across the air, through the vent, and into his ears. _Castiel_. Dean was thinking about him, praying to him, calling out to him. He didn’t have to think about it, not really, he just moved. Angels can move with just a simple thought through the air, through time and space. 

Dean sat on the beach, watching the calm of the lake turn from a cool deep blue of night to glowing with the pinks and oranges that bled across the water. His dog sat next to him, panting from their run. Castiel could see the beads of sweat glisten on Dean’s skin and in his messy hair. 

Even from this far away, he could hear the steady thumping of Dean’s heart within his chest, calming like a song that Castiel didn’t know was stuck in his head until he heard it again. It was a song that didn’t have a name. The chocolate lab sat up and turned to look at Castiel. 

He tilted his head to the side and Castiel offered him a friendly smile. Animals and children were more intune with angels. There was something about growing up that built a wall against faith and kept adults from seeing the things directly in front of them, or at least that had been Castiel’s experience. 

The dog’s name was Sam. It radiated off him like an aura of bright yellow. He ran to Castiel, immediately nudging his hanging hand for a pet. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked, turning to see what his dog was looking at. 

Castiel was scratching behind Sam’s ears, too focused on the dogs large, endearing eyes, and the whispers coming out from his mind into Castiel’s, to notice that Dean was looking at him. 

“Sorry, sir. He’s usually not so… Castiel?” 

The angel’s face turned up quickly, his eyes catching Deans. The sunrise behind him made him glow like the entire sunrise was coming out of him, like his soul was seeping out of his pores and out into the sky. He didn’t intend for Dean to see him, not really, but still he got to his feet. “Hello, Dean.” 

He could feel Dean’s eyes like a pressure against his skin, a presence that was undeniable. If he even had the capacity to understand something as complex and as simple as that. 

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked it almost as if he was annoyed or frustrated. There was a bite to his tone that cut through the air between them, the song in the sunrise. 

“I like the sunrise,” Castiel admitted, thinking that surely Hannah was on the rooftop waiting for him, but in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Dean turned his head to the water and then back to Castiel as if it didn’t occur to him before that moment that the world had been turning that entire time. “Oh, right. Sorry,” Dean said letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s just… It’s weird to see you again.” 

“Weird is nice.” 

There was a spark in Dean’s eye, and his lips tugged at a smile. “Yeah I think it might be.” Sam nudged at Castiel’s hand again, and his eyes flickered down to the dogs. “Sorry ‘bout him. That’s Sammy. He’s good, but he can be a little needy.”

“He prefers Sam,” Castiel said absentmindedly as he focused on scratching the places that Sam instructed. 

Dean snorted. “Oh yeah? He tell you that?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said, glancing back at Dean. 

His eyebrow quirked and his tongue ran across his bottom lip. “What else did he tell you?” 

Castiel crouched in front of Sam, patting his back. “He worries about you. He doesn’t think you sleep enough.” 

Dean’s lips opened as if he was going to say something but they just stayed there, empty breath escaping. 

_I watch you,_ Castiel wanted to say, _you need to rest. You’re much too tired._

The moment lingered between them, something palpable, perhaps a string pulling them together by their chests. Or perhaps it was just the song in the sunrise making Castiel a little nostalgic. 

“Yeah well, what does he know? He sleeps too much if you ask me,” Dean said with a forced laugh, making a joke. He did that a lot, Castiel noticed. When he wasn’t drowning in guilt, he was making light of things. 

“Perhaps he does, but that doesn’t negate the truth. You would feel better if you rested. If you’d allow yourself enough peace to sleep.”

“Cas,” Dean began. He said the nickname, the word rolling off his tongue like he’d said it a thousand times. “You busy right now? Got anywhere to be?”

“No, Dean. I don’t have anywhere to be.” Nowhere to belong. 

“Want to get coffee? I’m itchin’ for some.” 

“I’d like that.” _I’d go anywhere with you._

“What do you want? It’s on me,” Dean said brightly, taking out his old ratty wallet from the pocket of his sweats. 

Cas was standing close to him, and he could feel Cas’ hot breath on his neck. Did the guy not know about person space? He was strange and really intense, but there was something else about him, something honest. Dean's eyes flickered to him to catch him staring, unwavering. “Have you been here before?” 

He looked like he’d been pulled from a trance, snapped out of whatever he’d been focusing on. “No, I haven’t.”

Dean grinned. There was something exciting about ordering for someone. He _loved_ sharing his favorite foods and watching the person's face as they enjoyed it. He’d never forget Lisa’s first IPA, the way her face scrunched up like she’d been pinched. _It tastes like a tree, Dean!_

“Two of the usual,” he said with a bright grin. He turned back to Cas. “They have the best buttered croissants. You have no idea.”

“You’re right,” Cas said, his voice dropping. He almost sounded sad like he was longing for something. “I don’t have any idea.”

“Hey. Don’t let yourself frown.” He poked the growing crease across Castiel's forehead. “It’ll make you age before your time. Laugh lines not frown lines, I always say.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked inquisitively, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows perked up, causing the frown line to disappear. 

“It’s what the photographers say when they come and do the calendar shoot at the fire department.” 

“I will have to see that calendar.” 

Dean felt heat creep up his neck as he reached for the coffee cups and bag of scones. He stuck the bag between his teeth so he could tug on Sammy’s leash and drag him toward a bench closer to the beach.

The two men settled side by side on the bench to eat and watch the sun rise over the water. Dean handed Cas his coffee and pulled the paper bag out from between his lips. He opened the bag and removed two buttered croissants. “Best croissant you’ll ever have,” he said confidently, taking a bite.

“What does it taste like?” Castiel asked, holding his between his fingers. He was staring intently at Deans lips as he chewed. 

“It’s good.” Castiel stared at him blankly, like he was waiting for more. “Shit, I don’t know. Haven’t you had a croissant before?” Dean asked, his cheeks full of pastry. 

Cas’ blue eyes flickered back down to the pastry in his fingers and he frowned just a bit, his lips curling downward in concern. He glanced back at Dean, as if a magnet was pulling his eyes. “I know what a croissant tastes like, but I want to know what it tastes like to you.” 

He swallowed the pastry that he’d been chewing, his eyes locked with Castiel’s. There was a deep and genuine curiosity in his eyes. “What?” 

“Describe it,” he said intensely, leaning toward Dean. 

It felt silly, and he half expected Cas to bust up laughing and teasing him for considering it, but he didn’t. He sat there waiting expectantly for Dean’s description. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything about you.” 

Those words were the ones that usually sent Dean flying off the handle. He didn’t like the concept of commitment, the serious look in Cas’ blue eyes, or words like _everything._ And yet he closed his eyes and slowly brought his croissant back to his lips. His tongue touched the flakey, warm surface, and he thought about it for the first time. How often did he eat a croissant and not even consider what he was tasting? He just blindly ate it without even really enjoying it. “It’s… it’s warm and flakey. Kind of like the pieces fall apart when they hit my tongue. It’s really buttery, salty, but a little sweet. It’s really light, almost like some air was in the center. I don’t know, that sounds stupid…” He exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, but when he opened his eyes, Cas was looking at him with a tenderness that Dean had never seen in his life, and it took his breath away. 

“It isn’t stupid, Dean. Thank you for sharing that with me.” 

His eyes flickered to Cas’ lips, pink, soft, full, almost like they were painted on. He wanted to reach out and run his thumb across them. He was so strange, but what was even stranger was the pull that they had. How, even though he was uncomfortable, he found himself scooting closer on the bench until his knees brushed Castiel’s. His fingers reached for Cas’ instinctively, and they brushed up against his knuckles, and to his surprise, Castiel didn’t react, his eyes didn’t waiver and his fingers didn’t twitch. He seemed to be truly lost in Dean’s eyes. It was equally terrifying and exhilarating. He’d never been looked at like that before. It was like he was the only other person in all of existence. 

Silence settled around him like new fallen snow and a chill ran up his spine, begging him to shatter the it. “I’m gonna try to go see Mr. Messenger again. Do you know how he’s doing?” 

“He is comfortable.” 

“I really want to thank him,” Dean exhaled. He pointed his knees back toward the lake, resting his clasped hands between his legs. “He saved someone when I couldn’t, a _civilian.”_

“You did all that you could.” 

He gripped his hands tighter, his knuckles white, and his short nails digging into his skin. “Sometimes I just feel like everything is out of my hands. I can do everything right and people still die.” He pressed his lips together, trying to hold in the ache that radiated from his chest through the rest of his body. 

“That’s why you must have faith, Dean.” 

“But _how_ can I do that? If I have no control then what’s the point??”

Castiel’s fingers brushed the back of Dean’s hand, causing an almost electric shock through his skin, before they settled, stroking from his wrist down his middle finger. “Hope. _Hope_ is the whole point.” 

Castiel was in the hospital _anyway_. The fact that Dean planned to see Mr. Messenger was irrelevant to his current position. Completely irrelevant. 

He stood in Mr. Messenger's hospital room, staring out the window at the city beyond the parking lot. Everyone looked so small. The humans were miniatures, like ants, and even the angels looked small. Around every corner, every ledge, over shoulders, watching and protecting the people. That’s what they did. It was their purpose given from God, from the father that they would never meet. Protect the souls, protect the people, and bring them to Heaven. 

It was a heavy load to watch and to wait eternally with no real connection. Sometimes Castiel had an emptiness within him that was so draining that he wasn’t able to catch his breath, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t fit in with the angels, but he wasn’t human either. He was a man between worlds, and he was devastated. 

There was a squeak from the hospital bed, and a whine from Mr. Messenger sucking in his oxygen before a hoarse voice croaked out. “I know you’re there.” 

Castiel froze where he was. His fingers still hovering over the glass of the window. 

“I can’t see you,” he clarified, wryly. “But I know that you’re there.” 

“You can’t know that,” Castiel said dumbly. He didn’t _want_ to be seen or heard, so how did the man know that he was there? 

“You can just go back and tell them that I’m not coming. It’s not my time.”

Castiel sat in the chair next to Mr. Messenger, and looked at him. He _really_ looked at him. The man was sickly, with dark circles under his eyes and puffy cheeks from his low oxygen levels. His hair was longer, pushed back, and thick. Despite the exhaustion and the weight of his illness, his golden eyes were still bright. 

His lips pulled into a thin smile, and his eyebrows quirked up. “My god, I was right.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. He’d been so focused on the man that he didn’t even _notice_ himself appearing. For the second time in his thousands of years he let his guard down. For the second time he’d allowed himself to be seen. “How did you know I was here?” Castiel asked, avoiding the unneeded pleasantries.

“I can always tell. It’s like a disturbance in the force,” he said wryly.

“The force?”

“Like Star Wars?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you don’t.”

Castiel stared at the man intensely, still waiting for his answer. 

Mr. Messenger tilted his head to the side and gave a wryly smile. “You don’t like not knowing, do you? Well I know a lot of things. For instance, I know that you’re an angel.” 

His eyebrows went together in concern. He couldn’t know. He could guess, of course, but he couldn’t _know_ , unless… “Were you spared? Did someone make an exception for you?”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “That’d be somethin’ else, wouldn’t it?” He stroked the length of his oxygen tube, and turned his sharp cheekbones up to the sky. “But you and I both know that there are no exceptions, not truly.” 

“You are being cryptic,” Castiel complained, desperately wanting him to get to the point already. 

“That’s half of the fun.” 

Castiel stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. This act caused Mr. Messenger to sit up a little straighter in bed. 

“You’re bothered by this,” he noted, eyeing Castiel. “Which means that you’re able to be bothered.” 

Castiel frowned and shook his head. “No. I just have other things I need to be doing.” 

“So do them,” he challenged. 

He pressed his lips together and stared at the ill man in front of him. Castiel couldn’t very well just leave, and Mr. Messenger knew that all too well. “Why are you taunting me?”

“Because I don’t just share this information.” 

“What information?” Castiel pressed. 

“You aren’t here to take me to Heaven?”

He shook his head no. “Just watching over you.” He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to be asked any follow up questions for why he was there. He didn’t want to have to mention Dean or to dance around the subject of him. 

Mr. Messenger looked like he was considering something. He stroked his cleft chin with his index finger and thumb, his full eyebrows drawn together. “Fuck it,” he whispered before his tired eyes met Castiel’s. “I know what you are because I was an angel, too.” 

Castiel frowned. No. It was impossible. There was only one angel that he’d ever known to fall, and it was a myth. It was a horror story that little angels heard before they were tucked into bed at night. It was a reminder to behave. 

“You don’t believe me,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn't believe me either.” 

“You couldn’t be. You wouldn’t be dying if you were an angel.” It was harsh, but true. Angels didn’t just stop being angels. 

“You can move with a thought. It isn’t the big feathery dramatic wings like everyone thinks. No halos or harps. The angels are everywhere, just invisible. You’re on earth on some assignment from a father that you’ve never met. You walk people to Heaven when they die. When they’re old, when they’re young, with no say in the matter. You’re a messenger, a soldier for God. You can’t feel the wind on your face or a brush of a hand, but you can hear music in the sunset and the sunrise.” There was an intensity to his words, to his locked gaze. His chin was steady but there was a shake to his voice, a nostalgia, an _understanding_ as if he spoke from experience. 

“How do you know…”

“My name is Gabriel. Friends call me Gabe.” He extended out a translucent, blue veined hand to Castiel to shake.

He stared at the extended hand with bewilderment. He had always heard that Gabriel fell. Well, the rumor was that he was cast out of Heaven, but there were never any details. He was an Archangel, and they were just as mysterious as God. He had certainly never met one. Up until that moment he hadn’t even been sure they were real. 

The prospect of it all… falling, becoming human. Castiel yearned to learn what it felt like to be human. A set of green eyes flashed in his mind and there was a distant pull in his chest, like the tug of a string. 

“You’re thinking about it,” Gabriel commented quietly. “I can see the gears turning.” 

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Gabriel’s. They locked with his. What did he have to lose? What harm would the knowledge of the thing do? “How did you do it?”

“Bust me out of this hospital, and I’ll tell you everything.” 

Castiel took his hand without a second thought and shook it tightly. “My name is Castiel.” 

A large grin grew on his cheeks, his eyes sparkling in the low light. “Son of a bitch, let me get my shoes on.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

They ended up in a Waffle House and Gabriel sat across from Castiel, shoveling a bite of peach waffles into his mouth. He’d promised to tell Cas how he did it, how he _fell_ , but instead he had whipped cream on his upper lip, mumbling as if he had no intention of doing anything other than enjoying his breakfast. “This is good, this is really good.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Yeah, you sure look it,” Gabriel replied with a mouth full of waffle. 

“I removed you from the hospital and procured you fruit covered breakfast. It is your turn to fulfill your portion of the bargain.” 

Gabriel snickered, adjusting his oxygen tube in his nostrils before offering a patented smirk. “I’ve got you right where I want you,Cas.” 

Cas was not amused. He pressed his palms to the table and leaned in. “Tell me, Gabriel. I do not appreciate the games.”

Gabriel licked some stray whipped cream off his bottom lip, his smile softening. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Not exactly built for them.”

There was frustration building inside Castiel in a way that he couldn’t grasp, that he couldn’t hold on to, it was like a static current inside him. Gabriel must have noticed, because his eyes flickered down, watching Castiel tugging at his knuckles impatiently. 

“Free will,” he said, as if it was that simple. “When God created man, we all assumed that he created free will like it was a gift for them specifically, but we were wrong. We have it, too. We have the right to choose.” 

He stared at Gabriel. He was wrong. He _had_ to be. They were messengers, soldiers of God. They received orders and followed them. It was as simple as that. It was something that he’d always known to be true. “No.” His fingers curled into his palms, his knuckles white from the pressure. 

Gabriel nodded once, his eyes focused on the angel's face, and Castiel knew that he wasn’t lying. He could sense it deep below his skin. The news was earth shattering. 

“Free will,” Castiel repeated, the words strange on his tongue.

“Yup.” He took another bite of waffle and chewed as he studied Castiel’s reaction. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Humanity, Cas. You should know more than anyone that there’s something about these people.” He pointed a sticky peach fork at a couple at the counter who were laughing. They couldn’t stop touching. The guy’s arm was around the girl’s shoulder, their noses brushing, and lips pressing together. 

Castiel swallowed hard and a set of green eyes flashed into his mind. “But you’re dying.” His eyes trailed along the tube that ran from Gabriel’s nose to his oxygen tank. 

“What is a life if it lasts forever? If you can’t taste peach waffles or have sex.” He laughed to himself, and Castiel didn’t understand the joke, but he yearned to understand it nonetheless. “I have kids,” Gabriel smiled to himself. “A wife who loves me for some god forsaken reason. I’ve _lived,_ Cas. After millennia of watching other people do it, I finally got to live.” 

“Do you wish you had made a different choice?” 

“Not for a single second.” 

“How does it work?” he asked suddenly. 

“You climb up to a tall vantage point, stand on the edge, close your eyes, and just _fall.”_

Castiel stared at him expectantly, suspiciously. It couldn’t be that simple. “You just fall?”

“You decide to fall, ya know, in here,” he said, poking his chest over his heart. “And then you just do it.” 

“Just fall…” Castiel murmured. It was absurd. It was insane. It was _revolutionary._

“Yup. Just make sure it’s what you want, Cas, because there’s no take-backsies.” 

Castiel turned and looked out the window. It was a dreary, rainy day. The dark sky pressed down on the earth, closing in on itself like a shoebox. He wondered what it would feel like to suffocate, to feel his lungs beg for breath only to clench in tighter and tighter with no relief. He glanced at Gabriel. He was dying of lung cancer. He knew what it felt like to have his lungs fill with fluid. He knew what it felt like to drown. “Do you think God is punishing you for falling?”

“How do you mean?” 

“Your illness.” 

His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise and he scratched his chin. “Ya know, it hadn’t really occurred to me. Why would the old man give us the choice if we weren’t allowed to make it?” 

Castiel leaned across the table a bit, his tie hanging dangerously close to Gabriel’s waffles. “Why did he place the forbidden tree in Eden? Perhaps it was a test, Gabriel, and you failed.” 

The fallen angel studied him. “If you’re that afraid of Daddy being mad at you, I hope she's worth it.” 

“She?”

“The girl that you’re thinking about falling for, whoever she is.” 

“There is no girl,” Castiel said tightly. 

“Right.” Gabriel stretched his arms out and cracked his neck. “Come on, let’s go.” He slowly hopped out of the booth, his boxers hanging out of the back of his untied hospital gown. 

“Where are we going?” 

He turned to Castiel and shot him a mischievous grin. “You don’t have to know everything, Cas. Not knowing is half the fun.” 

Dean walked into the elevator at the hospital and pressed the button to take him up to the cancer floor. The doors shut with a groan. The skin under his cast itched like a son of a bitch, and his bones ached like a bruise. He wanted to poke it to remind himself that he was alive, to remind him exactly what he was always fighting for. He signed in at the nurses station and scribbled his last name on the adhesive name tag. “Has Mr. Messenger had any other visitors today?” He asked awkwardly, as his eyes quickly scanned the sign in sheet. Castiel’s name was nowhere to be found, and he didn’t know why he cared. After he’d said goodbye to Castiel at the lakeside he went back and fucked Lisa again. 

She kept on grabbing his cheeks so he would look at her, but those curious blue eyes wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how fast or hard he moved with her. _“Hope is the whole point.”_ So he went down on her instead, settling between her legs, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t a shit person for thinking about someone else while his girlfriend was naked and spread out in front of him. When she gasped out his name, her fingers tugging his hair at the roots and her clit pulsing with heat, he almost believed it.

There was just a lightness to Cas that Dean couldn’t place. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, or the way he just understood things. He promised Dean that Charlie was in a better place, and when he looked into those clear blue eyes he didn’t know how he _couldn’t_ believe him. 

When Cas asked him about the croissant he looked almost sad, his lips unconsciously moving along with Dean’s as if he was trying to memorize what was being said. Dean kind of wanted to kiss him in that moment, but _that_ was just a passing thought. It was just the morning, the butter, and the endorphins from his run. He didn’t make a habit of kissing strangers in trench coats. At least, he hadn’t up until that point. 

“Just you,” the nurse said, sounding almost bored. 

Dean forced a tight smile. “Right. Thanks.” He peeled the name tag off its paper backing and stuck it to his shirt, before heading toward Mr. Messenger’s room. 

There was a nurse standing outside the room, leaning against the wall. He was a skinny fella in scrubs with a stethoscope hanging around his neck, scribbling on a chart. Dean approached uncomfortably and went to knock when the man spoke to him without looking up from the chart. “He isn’t there.” 

“What?” Dean asked, just about jumping out of his skin. 

The man’s eyes rolled up to glance at him. He offered a lazy smile. “He’s flown the coop.”

His stomach dropped. “He died?”

The nurse laughed this bubbly almost giggle and ran his fingers through his ashy blonde hair. “Nah, he just sort of left. He does that. Hard to keep contained.” 

“Are you not concerned?”

“Nah. He always comes back. I’m just guarding the door for him in the meantime.” 

“Right,” Dean said with an exhale. “I’ve been trying to see him for days now, and I keep missing him.” He shoved his good hand in his jeans pocket, and his broken one hung awkwardly at his side.

“He’s slippery alright,” the nurse offered his hand and a wide smile. “I’m Garth.” 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the hand before letting out a sigh. He took Garth’s dainty hand in his and shook hard. “Dean.” 

“Why are you looking for Mr. Messenger?”

“There was a fire at his apartment building, and he saved his neighbor. I wanted to thank him.” 

“Family of yours?”

“No, I’m a firefighter,” he said uncomfortably. He didn’t like to brag. That wasn’t why he took the job. “I was at the scene.” 

Garth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, no kidding? You’re some kind of hero, then!” 

“Not me. Mr. Messenger is the real hero. He saved the woman, not me.” _I didn’t save anyone._

Garth raised a curious eyebrow at that. “Gabe is like that. He’s a righteous man.” 

“Godly?”

“Not entirely,” Garth grinned like he had a secret, but he didn’t elaborate any further. “Well I better get going on my rounds. If you’ll be there to guard the door that is.” 

Dean nodded quickly and waved his broken arm. “Don’t have anywhere better to be.” He thought back to Lisa laying naked in his bed when he snuck out of the house that morning and tried to shake off that sick feeling that was growing in his gut. 

Garth smiled back at him and nodded a few times almost like a bobble head. “Great! When you see him sneaking back in, look for a guy in a trench coat. I saw them sneak out together.” He gave a cheesy salute and turned on his heels, rushing around a corner. 

A trench coat. 

_Castiel._

Dean’s stomach did a flip, which was ridiculous. He was a grown ass man. He didn’t get butterflies. It didn’t matter how blue his eyes were, or how his intense gaze made Dean question everything… it didn’t matter. Not at all. 

They were at the water's edge, Castiel and Gabriel. The breeze gave the water an ocean-like push and pull. Gabriel's shoes were off, and his toes pushed into the sand. His arms were out wide with his palms turned up toward the sky. He stood there with his eyes closed, waiting, Castiel presumed, for the sunsets song to start. 

Castiel stood behind him, his own loafers squishing into the damp sand. The breeze made his trench coat almost take flight like wings, and he closed his eyes as well. 

_How does it feel?_

Gabriel said it hurt, but that meant nothing to Castiel. Pain, relief, love, _sex_ were all just concepts. They were words in a dictionary. They were arbitrary. Even though Castiel knew all of this too well, he still thought it. He thought about Dean, about his smile, those moss green eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever he smiled. Would he be worth it? He opened his eyes and saw Gabriel walking into the water, his bony knees disappearing in the lake. He was being baptized, his hospital gown spreading out around him. 

The sun kissed the horizon and a warm glow fell over the angels that were gathered around Chicago. The music started quietly at first, like a hum. The music vibrated through Castiel like electricity, like a pinprick through his veins, like what happened when Dean was near him. 

Dean had asked him about faith, about believing in God without having any kind of proof. Castiel believed in God because of moments like this. How could God _not_ exist when the sunset sang such a beautiful song? How could God not exist when Dean was there? 

“Castiel.” Hannah’s voice invaded his thoughts as she appeared behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the sunset,” Castiel said simply. It may have been the first lie he’d ever told, and he was surprised by how easily it rolled off his tongue. 

“Who is that?” She asked, eyeing Gabriel, who was now jumping into the waves. 

Castiel covered his mouth as Gabriel’s hospital gown floated next to him, exposing his white naked ass that seemed to glow pink in the sunset. Hannah did not look amused. “I will get him,” he said awkwardly, shedding his shoes and trench coat. His tie was loosened and tossed into the sand behind him. 

Being submerged in water was as close as Castiel felt to flying. He swam out to Gabriel, the water on his face, blurring his vision and rushing through his fingers. He wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s midriff and swam upward. They broke the membrane of the lake, and Gabriel gasped for air weakly. His face was wet from the water, but even with lake water rolling down his cheeks Castiel could see his eyes welling and red. “You're crying,” he said carefully. “Are you in pain?”

Gabriel nodded and closed his eyes, and a tear rolled past his eyelashes and down his cheek. “I can’t hear it. I can’t hear the music anymore.” 

“You two are getting back late,” Dean mused, as he stood up from his seated position in the corner of Gabriel’s hospital room. 

His joints groaned in annoyance from being stationary for too long. He’d fallen asleep in the chair. He was _not_ intending to stay camped out at the hospital all night long. Gabriel was soaking wet, wearing Castiel’s trench coat which was buttoned all the way up. Droplets of water dripped from his hair onto the coat. Dean would’ve thought it was raining, if Cas hadn’t been completely dry. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Hey, Cas.” 

Gabriel’s eyes flickered between them before glancing at Cas. “This him?”

Castiel immediately looked alarmed, his eyes widening. “No. This is Dean, he is a fireman, and he wants to speak to you.” Castiel smiled tightly, his expression looking like he was seconds from taking off in a sprint as fast as possible, but he didn’t move. 

“He’s right,” Dean said, walking to Gabriel. “Mr. Messenger, it’s an honor.” 

“Call me Gabe,” he said, taking Dean’s hand with a weak grip. Dean could tell then that the man’s skin was pale, almost translucent and gray. His lips were a light blue. “I’m under oxygenated,” he explained with a wry grin.

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized. “Didn’t mean to stare.” 

“It’s all good. I know I’m irresistible.” He winked at Dean, causing his back to straighten a bit. It took everything in him not to glance at Castiel to gauge his reaction. 

“‘M sure you’re a real lady killer.” 

Gabriel shrugged and glanced between Dean and Cas again. “My wife would probably think so.” He lowered himself onto his bed with a wince, replacing his portable oxygen with the mask that hung on his bedside. He took a few trembling breaths before removing the mask so he could speak again. “Why are you here, Dean?” 

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said, standing up a bit straighter. He pulled his shoulders back and tilted his chin up to show Gabriel the proper respect. “You saved a life at that fire. You are a hero.” 

He waved off the praise. “It’s no thing.” 

“It’s a big thing,” Dean said, insistently. “You’re not trained. Well, I assume…” 

Gabriel shook his head with a weak laugh before his eyes met Dean’s. “You carry a lot of guilt, don’t you?”

He stiffened at the comment. There was no sense in feeling guilty for something he couldn’t control - but _lives_ inside of buildings that he could’ve saved? Yeah he carried guilt for that. He’d always carry guilt for that. 

“I’m sure your boyfriend has told you this already, and I don’t exactly have the breath to waste so I’ll leave it at this. Death is just another part of life, and life is messy, painful, sometimes a little smelly, but _fuck_ it’s beautiful. You have to roll with the punches and take death as just another milestone.”

“How?”

Gabriel shrugged and glanced back at Castiel who was standing almost statuelike. “I don’t know. If we had all the answers then there’d be no reason for faith.” 

Dean’s fingers curled into his palms, and his nails bit into the skin. _Faith._ He was so goddamn sick of hearing that word. 

There was a quick rap of knocks on the door, and Dean glanced up as Garth poked his head in. “Look who’s back. We need to do your breathing treatment.” He frowned. “I think it may be time for visiting hours to be over. Have you been swimming?”

Gabriel shrugged with a smug look on his face. “What of it?” 

The nurse sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d appreciate you not dying on me, Mr. Messenger. I’m on board for a little tomfoolery as much as the next guy, but pneumonia is a serious concern.” 

“We will go,” Dean said apologetically, and Castiel nodded in agreement. 

“I will get my coat from you later,” Cas said as Gabriel started to unbutton it. 

“Suit yourself.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Messenger.” Dean took his hand and shook one more time. 

Gabriel pulled Dean by his hand into his chest and held him there, with Gabriel’s lips near his ear. “He’s fragile. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know what it’s like,” he whispered harshly before pulling away with a wide smile. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

Dean stood up as soon as Gabriel released him, and his back straightened. How could he hurt Cas? He ran his fingers through his hair and gave Gabriel a quick nod as if he understood. “We should get going,” he said to Cas, glancing in his direction. The other man placed his hands in his pockets and waited for Dean to lead the way.

Without the trench coat he seemed exposed, innocent. His eyes seemed to glow even brighter against the deep blue of his suite. Dean made his way out the door into the hallway, his eyes glancing over at Cas every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear again. He was good at that, slippery motherfucker.

The door clicked shut behind them. “So,” Dean said awkwardly. 

Cas just stared back at him with wide blue eyes that literally _glistened_ in the fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway. “Let’s go somewhere,” he said suddenly, his pupils dilated.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Okay.”

They turned, and Dean’s fingers twitched for Castiel's. He felt like he should curl them into his own, like he would if he were walking with Lis. The feeling sat in his gut, twisting in a way that made him a little dizzy. 

Then he was being touched. 

“Are you alright?” 

Castiel’s hand was on his shoulder, steady, with spread fingers. His voice was rough and filled with concern. 

“I’m good,” Dean managed with a tremble in his voice. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t walking, he was just _there,_ and Castiel was touching him. His voice caught in his throat. 

“Are you in pain?” 

“No.” _Yes._

A small smile appeared on Castiel’s lips, but there was a sadness to his eyes. “Come with me.” His hand ran down Dean’s arm from his shoulder, gripping his elbow to guide him to the end of the hallway and through a door labeled ‘exit’. 

“Should we be here?” Dean asked, suddenly nervous. His voice echoed, bouncing against the concrete walls. 

“Probably not,” Cas said simply, but the strength in his fingers pressed against Dean’s elbow, and he moved on instinct up the stairs. 

The sounds of their footsteps pounded like the beat of a song, a march, up and up, flight after flight, and Dean was getting winded. Cas looked completely unbothered by the physical exertion. He opened his mouth to ask Cas where they were going, when they finally stopped moving. They hovered at the top of the stairs, and Cas’ eyes flickered to Dean’s. “Are you ready?” 

_Ready for what?_

He gave Cas a nod, because what else was he supposed to do? 

Castiel turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, exposing the hospital’s roof, and beyond that, the sparkling skyline of downtown Chicago. 

Unbeknownst to the people of Chicago, they were always being watched, not by Santa Clause, the police, or the FBI. They are being watched by angels. There were countless numbers of them, Castiel’s brothers and sisters, watching over those that they could. They didn’t have much influence in what they could do, just a touch to bring on calm. They were minor miracles, but miracles nonetheless. 

He liked that part of his job, helping people, watching them. He found himself entranced, seduced by humanity, but more than anything, he was just moving - going through the same motions he had as long as he could remember, since the beginning of time. It was easy to let go, to forget about the things that he couldn’t change, and roll with the punches, so to say, but other times, it wasn’t so simple. Seeing Dean Winchester staring in complete awe at the city in front of him, the city he grew up in, was one of those moments. 

He wondered if Dean knew just how beautiful he was. He walked to the edge of the roof and pressed his palms against the ledge. He leaned forward toward the edge as if the pull of gravity was tugging at his chest. He closed his eyes and held out his hands; they were almost like wings. He looked like he was about to take flight, and it stirred something within Castiel. He felt the muscles in his back twitch. He ached to take flight, too. 

“You like it,” Castiel observed. 

“Like it?” Dean asked breathlessly. “I fucking _love it_.” He turned to Castiel with a wide, cheek-splitting smile that just about knocked the breath out of Cas’ body - if he’d had to breathe that is. 

He met Dean’s smile and for the first time that he could recall, it was effortless. “It is beautiful,” Castiel commented, getting lost in Dean’s eyes, even in the darkness. 

“Yeah fuck, it is, ain’t it?” Dean turned back out and leaned on the ledge. “It’s kind of earth shattering.” He gestured with his broken arm. “All of those lights are people.” 

And with almost every person, there was an angel. Could each light just be the heavenly glow of grace? Or was it just simply a lightbulb, drastic against the blackness of night? 

Castiel wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. 

“Cas? You all good in there?” 

Dean had been talking to him, and he hadn’t even noticed. How could he have missed that? “Yes, I am all good in here.” 

“‘Mere, you little nerd,” Dean said, flashing another grin and waving Cas to him. 

He complied, walking to Dean’s side. They hovered close, their atoms bouncing against each other. Dean settled back into his position, seeming at peace with Castiel by his side. Cas, however, was deeply unsettled. It was like something inside him had been shaken up, bubbling, and threatening to spill over. “Does your arm hurt?”

“Huh? This old thing?” Dean asked, waving his broken arm in the air. He let out a single, breathless laugh. “Nah, ‘s just a reminder.” 

“A reminder?” 

“Of all the stupid mistakes I made.” He flexed his fingers and looked away with a flash of disgust across his face. His lip curled up in distaste, and his eyebrows came together, clearly lost in the memory of those mistakes.

Castiel studied him. He studied the tightness in Dean’s shoulders, the wetness along his lash line. His pain was so beautiful, he was stunningly human. “You are human, Dean,” he said softly.

“Huh?” 

“You’re _human,_ ” Castiel said, and as he said it, it clicked in his head. He was enthralled by Dean’s humanity, and absolutely terrified of what that meant for them both. “Mistakes are a part of that. Just continue to learn from those mistakes, and you will never stop growing.” 

Dean exhaled through his nose and shook his head with a slight smile, as if he was trying to pull himself out of the darkness that had surrounded him. “Okay, Confucius.”

Castiel placed his hand next to Dean’s, their pinkies brushing slightly. Dean was human, but he was not. He was an angel. The air between them may as well have been a crater, the Grand Canyon, the _universe._ Gabriel talked about falling like it was just done, like the decision wasn’t impossible, like Dean would want him even if he did fall. 

He found himself glancing at Dean, his face a stark contrast against the sparkling skyline behind him. “What are you thinking about?” Castiel asked. He could’ve read his mind, but he didn’t want to do that, not with Dean. He wanted Dean to tell him because Dean wanted him to know, not because his thoughts were plucked from his head.

“You ever think about death, Cas?” 

Castiel closed his eyes tightly and nodded. “More frequently than I’d like to.” 

“Lookin’ at Gabe in there… holdin’ that little girl in my arms and not being able to save her… I just… I’m starting to wonder what the point is. What am I fighting so goddamn hard for?” Dean’s voice caught in his throat, overwhelmed by emotion. 

“Love?” Castiel offered, as if he had any idea what that four letter word meant. 

Dean laughed through what sounded like a sob building in his throat. It came out sort of jumbled, mixed up. “Who would ever love me, Cas?”

He opened his eyes to find Dean looking at him with a desperation, a _need._ “Perhaps you would be surprised.” 

“Surprised by what?” Dean asked, his voice breaking, soft, and much too small for a man of his stature. 

Castiel reached forward, not thinking about it, and pressing his palm to Dean’s cheek. The scruff on his face pressed into Castiel’s palm as Dean allowed himself to be touched. He ran his thumb across Dean’s cheekbone, and his own bottom lip trembled. “You may be surprised to learn how easy you are to love.” 

He yearned to kiss Dean, wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life, but how could he kiss him with the knowledge that he would never feel Dean’s lips against his own? He didn’t feel the scratch of facial hair against his palm, or the heat of Dean’s skin, or the wetness on his eyelashes. How could he ever accept that cruel fate, to touch him without ever being truly touched back? What is a touch, if it can’t be felt - was it even a touch at all? 

“You don’t know me, Cas,” Dean whispered, his lips barely moving, yet parted like he was waiting to say something else. 

“I know you, Dean Winchester. I know your soul.”

Dean closed his eyes, a tear spilling over his eyelashes. It rolled down his cheek, and Castiel caught it with his thumb. When he opened his eyes again, they were pouring over with emotion, giving them a turquoise shimmer. “You do, don’t you?” Dean’s eyes searched Castiel’s face, and he felt exposed in a way he never had before. He felt naked, and his free hand gripped at his suit jacket to be sure it was still there. “How?” 

“Because it’s bright, like the sun.” 

“Buddy, is that supposed to be a compliment?” 

Castiel smiled and nodded. “It is.” 

“I think I know your soul, too,” Dean said, even though it was impossible. There was a tug deep in Castiel’s belly, a weight that made the rooftop spin. 

“You—you do?” 

“Yes.” Dean reached his own hands up and held Castiel’s face in his hands, not bothered by the cast. “Your soul is cool and calm like the night. It’s solid and sure. Just like how I know the sun will always set and bring the night, I know that you will be exactly who you are, exactly who I know you to be.” 

And Dean kissed him. 

He leaned his face in and softly brushed his lips against Castiel’s, like a thank you, like a promise. Castiel couldn’t feel it, and his head spun. If Dean’s soul was the sun, and his soul was the night… then they were doomed to never exist together. 

He could let Dean kiss him all he wanted, but he would never have it all. He couldn’t feel Dean’s lips on his any more than he could feel the wind on his face, the ocean spray, or the sand between his toes, and he never would. The world ahead of him looked unbearably empty and void of all of the things that he never knew he wanted. He was staring down a long road of centuries of more of the same. And for what? Why should he deny himself?? For _duty?_ For history? For a father that he’d never met? For the song in the sunset? 

Dean pulled away and pressed his forehead to Castiel’s in a pure, gentle moment of quiet, and for the life of him Castiel couldn’t think of a single reason not to fall. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Dean laid in bed with Lisa. She was naked and sleeping on her stomach, Sam sleeping at the foot of the bed, snoring softly with his head resting on Dean’s thigh. He reached down and scratched behind Sam’s ear absentmindedly. His mind wasn’t in that room, it was back on the roof. 

He was inclined to apologize after the kiss, but Cas had just looked at him with this kind of beautiful shock, his blue eyes all wide, and Dean couldn’t even find the words. Was there ever a word for something like that? _“Have dinner with me tomorrow. I’ll cook.”_ He didn’t even hesitate or think it through. Lisa was leaving again that afternoon, after he got the cast off his arm. He would be whole, and she’d be itching to take flight again. There was no reason _not_ to have Cas over. He should probably just change the sheets first. 

His face heated up at the thought. 

He had a thing for a mysterious guy in a trench coat. _What the fuck?_ The weirdest part of it, though, was that it wasn’t weird at all. It might’ve been the only thing that had ever made sense in his entire life. Castiel was odd. The way he spoke and dressed, the way he disappeared into thin air, and the way he seemed to step out of the fog right when Dean was thinking about him. It felt like fate, if he believed in that shit. Which he didn’t, for the record. 

There was something between them and fuck if he knew what it was, but he was itching to find out. 

He sat up in bed, and Sammy raised his head, tilting it sideways as he looked at Dean. He let out a whine, followed by a big yawn. “Come on sleepy head, let's go for a walk. I need to clear my head.” Sam stood up stretching before he languidly hopped off the bed. Dean rolled his eyes and hopped out of bed with him, glancing at the still sleeping Lisa. He wanted to feel a tug inside himself to crawl back into bed with her and make love to her, but the only thing he felt when he looked at her was emptiness. 

He slid on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt, hooked up the leash to Sam’s collar and they slipped out of the apartment. According to his phone, he had about an hour until his cast came off, which was just enough time to run to the doctor’s office. He hoped they wouldn’t mind Sammy coming along, and if they did… well fuck ‘em. He could saw the thing off himself if he had to. 

So they ran, side by side. Dean pushed forward, his muscles burning and straining. His lungs wanted to cry out, his throat burned, and he thought of Castiel. He could still feel Cas’ lips on his own. He could see Charlie’s limp body in his arms. He could hear Lisa’s soft, sleeping breaths at his side. Regret pulsed through him just as his own blood through his heart into his veins. He knew that he was alive just as much as he knew that he had no control. He didn’t know what to do with that information. He didn’t know how to deal with the fact that a beautiful blue eyed man could look at him like he was the only other person in the universe and in the same breath tell him to have faith. He didn’t have faith. He didn’t believe in love, let alone _god_ , yet Cas had this unwavering belief. Dean wondered if he ever questioned it all. If he ever wondered _why._ Dean wondered how far Cas’ faith stretched. Was it as wide as his arms? A mile? The length of the universe, endless in its vast and constant expansion? Or was it just a grain of sand on a beach of a billion other thoughts, hopes, and dreams that were so small that he couldn’t pick it out and hold it alone. Perhaps Castiel was a sandcastle, built up of a nameless faith that Dean himself could never fathom. 

“Castiel.” 

He turned towards Hannah. She’d been talking, and he hadn’t heard a word she was saying. 

“You seem like you’re somewhere else,” she commented. Her voice was a little too cold. 

“I am right here, Hannah. Right where I’ve always been.” 

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “That is the thing, Castiel, you aren’t. Not in here at least.” She tapped her temple. “Have you taken any souls to Heaven lately? I haven’t seen you.” 

He hadn’t, and she knew that. He was distracted. He hadn’t been able to shake Dean or the thought of falling. It buzzed around his skull all hours of the day and night. He’d find himself watching Dean, invisibly, just to see what he was doing. Castiel wanted to be near him. Dean changed things, even though he shouldn’t. Perhaps he should ask Hannah, perhaps she could shed some light on the situation. 

“No.” 

“Why not? What has you so distracted.” 

“Not what…” Castiel’s voice trailed off as he considered the weight of what he was considering sharing with her. “Who.” 

For the first time he saw Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Do you recall the man I mentioned after the fire? The one who looked at me?”

“He didn’t--”

He held up a hand to cut Hannah off. “He did. He still is. I’ve… I’ve spoken to him.” 

“What?” Her voice dropped, and she took a step closer to him. “You mean… _talked?_ ”

“Yes. He’s spoken to me multiple times.”

“You let him see you.” A look of revelation came over her face. “Was this the man at the lakeshore?” 

Castiel laughed out loud. “Gabriel? Oh no.” 

“Gabriel.” Hannah’s eyebrows furrowed. 

It was certainly too late for Castiel to back out. He could see her thoughts racing away from her. They played across her face, her lip twitching and her eyebrows rising higher. “It is exactly what you think it is.” 

“It can’t be.” She shook her head. 

Angels were bred to take everything on faith. They were not meant to question God or the universe. They were simply foot soldiers, messengers, _vessels_ for God and His work. It was all that Castiel had ever known. He hadn’t ever outwardly fought against it, until _now_.

He met Hannah’s eyes and nodded slowly. “Gabriel. _The_ Gabriel.” 

“But he can’t be.” 

He reached out and touched Hannah’s shoulder to make her look at him. “He fell, Hannah. The stories are true.”

“How?”

Castiel smiled a little sadly. “Free will.” 

It was something that was given to the humans. It was given to _all_ of God’s creations. Evidently that included the angels. Castiel still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around it. How many mellinia would have to pass before the pieces of a life began to fit together? Was it Dean that would change everything, or would he just be another piece that never quite fit no matter how hard Castiel tried to force it?

Hannah reached for Castiel’s hand and tugged so he would look at her. She stared at him, her face serious. “Castiel. What does Gabriel have to do with all of this? What does he have to do with the man whom you let see you?” 

She was prying, but she didn’t want the real answer. She wanted Castiel to agree that he was being reckless. She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, but she wasn’t. They both knew it. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“No.” 

“Hannah, please.” 

“You can’t, Castiel. It isn’t _done.”_

“It is. Gabriel did it.” He took her other hand in his and looked into her eyes intently. “We all were given free will. We can--” 

She pulled her hands from his and looked at him with alarm. “This is so much worse than I thought it would be.” 

“It isn’t a bad thing, Hannah.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

“Why would you do it? You’re an _angel,_ Castiel! We are not meant to question our father!” 

“That’s what I’m saying. Maybe we are.” 

They looked at each other for a moment, and her jaw was tight. She shook her head. 

“Why not, Hannah? Why is it just for the humans? Why can’t we…” 

“Because we _aren’t_ human, Castiel!”

“But we could be! Don’t you wonder what it’s like? To be touched? To be _loved_?”

Hannah stared at him with her mouth wide open in horror. “You’re… you’re in love with this man? How is that even possible?” 

Was he? 

Castiel put his hand over his heart, rubbing at the pressure in his chest. He let out a pained sigh. He didn’t have the words to explain it to her. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. “I can’t pretend to understand the mechanics of it all. I don’t know if I love him, or if I’m capable of such a thing in this state.” His eyes flickered away from Hannah’s, suddenly unable to look at her. Her gaze was too intense, too damning. He knew that it wasn’t just choosing between angelic grace and humanity. He was choosing between two lives, and he wasn’t sure that his friendship with Hannah would survive his fall. He wasn’t sure if they were ever _friends_ in the first place. “But I believe that I… I may like to find out.” 

“Alright Mr. Winchester, how is your arm feeling?”

“Itchy,” Dean said, offering a wide smile. He waved his broken arm at the doctor. He felt like a little kid, bouncing on the examination table. He was so fucking ready for the cast to be off, that he could scream. He hadn’t slept comfortably since he’d gotten it on, and there was an itch deep within it that he couldn’t ever reach. It had driven himi crazy, like there was a bug inside burrowing into his skin. He had to get that thing off as soon as humanly possible. 

She smirked in response, a red curl falling into her face. “Doesn’t hurt?” 

“Nah, Doc, feels great. Ready to come off,” he pressed. 

He’d been laying in bed every night thinking about the first thing he’d do when the cast came off, and showering _without_ seran wrap was high on the list. Right next to memorizing a certain body with two good hands.

She tapped her chin with a red polished nail. “And ye’ wouldn’t be lyin’, would ye’?” She quirked a penciled eyebrow, her green eyes alert but caring. Dr. McLeod had been his physician ever since he joined the station. He was constantly coming in with burns or other stupid injuries, and he had to keep up with his physicals. 

Dean shook his head quickly. He worried that if she didn’t hurry up he would start gnawing through the cast with his teeth. “Nope. Fit as a fiddle.” 

She shook her head with a laugh. “Alright then.” She wiggled her fingers at him to hand over his arm, and he did. 

She placed his arm on a rollaway table and pulled out her electric saw to cut away the cast. She was focused on the instrument, but she smiled a bit. “You seem happy, Dean.” 

“Huh?” 

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Close yer jaw, boy. You’ll catch flies.” She tapped his chin before pulling her glove on her hand. “Why do you look so surprised? You’re glowing. If you were a woman I'd say you were pregnant.” 

_Glowing?_ Dean snorted with an eye roll. “Not pregnant.” 

“No, I suspected as much.” She was still watching him curiously, handing him a pair of safety glasses. “Yer in love.” 

“What?” Heat rushed up Dean’s neck and into his cheeks. The room began to spin. His fingers gripped the plastic glasses a little too tightly. They were immediately slick from sweat in his hand, and his mouth was dry. “ _Love_?” He asked it like it was a crazy concept, like she’d asked him if he had an alien bursting out of his chest. Maybe that was a less insane thought. Which was saying something. He put the safety glasses on and looked at his arm through the hazy plastic.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t known Cas that long. Fuck they hadn’t even went on a date, or slept together. He didn’t know what kind of beer Cas liked or how he took his coffee, so he couldn’t love him. That was an unreasonable thought. 

He opened his mouth to tell her exactly that, when she cut him off. 

“Thinking of tying the knot with the girlfriend finally?” She asked before powering up the saw. The sound of the saw whirring to life cut through the silence in the room. 

His breath caught in his throat as she held his arm down with one hand and cut through the cast. 

She was talking about Lisa. Of course she was. Why would she mention Cas? Why would she even _know_ about Cas? Yet here he was thinking about Castiel instead of Lisa… again. The idea was fucking crazy. It was unreasonable. It was _insane_ , and yet... Cas’ blue eyes were on his mind. That gaze that seemed to see right through him, the strength of his arms tucked into that awful trench coat. He’d be lying if he said that Cas hadn’t been on his mind. “Nah, Doc, ain’t that serious.” 

“Hm.” She removed the pieces of his cast, and Dean flexed his fingers. His arm smelled like his gym bag, and it was hairier and a little lower on muscle mass from what he remembered. Dr. McLeod rolled his wrist and tugged at his fingers. “Looks good.” 

He grinned widely, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and a pressure on his chest had been relieved. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. He felt like a brand new man. A man that had a lot of shit to think about. “What’re you sayin’?” 

“I’m _saying_ you’re good. Perfectly healed.” 

“Fucking finally!” He could’ve jumped up and kissed her right on the mouth for the news, but her lips weren’t the ones he wanted to kiss. “Get a note to Cap so I can get back to work?”

“I will,” she said before touching him with one gloved hand. “But Dean, ye need to listen to me. Be careful. Ye won’t always end up so lucky.” 

Sammy looked up from where he was curled in the corner and gave him a look like he agreed, and Dean waved them both off. “Thanks, Doc.” He leaned in and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek, unable to help himself. “See ya when I see ya.” 

“I hope it isn’t too soon!” She called after him as he grabbed Sam’s leash and pushed out of the office. 

It had started snowing in the hour he was in the office. The air was crisp and cold. It made his arm ache, and he rubbed at it instinctively. Sam sniffed it in response. “I know, buddy. I need to take a shower before this dinner.” 

Sam tilted his head to the side. “Don’t look at me like that. Lis and I aren’t exclusive. Plus it’s just dinner.” Sam closed his mouth and Dean rolled his eyes. He didn’t know who he was trying to fool. “Fine, fucker. Don’t believe me. Let’s go home.” And they started to run, despite the snow and the thin, icy air. 

What does one wear to a dinner date? 

Castiel was in a store, one that required money, but he was invisible, staring at the different mannequins. Their faces were blank and their hands on their hips. Some wore sweaters, coats, and one wore a suit. He tapped his chin inquisitively, and considered what his best move would be. He thought back to what Dean typically wore, or what he would like, and he looked down to his own suit. He’d never changed and suddenly he felt more shabby than ever. His hair was a mess and his clothes looked faded and limp. 

In retrospect, though, Dean _did_ ask him to come by for dinner in his current attire - perhaps he wasn’t too drab afterall. He turned to leave when a mannequin caught his eye. A tie, to be more specific, a deep blue with light blue roses adorning the satin. He pulled it off of the mannequin and held it in his hand. It was beautiful and he found himself wondering if Dean would think so too. 

He was making lasagna. It was an old family recipe - well, not so much _family_ as it was a recipe he learned from the firehouse. Singer had taught him how to make it one night after Dean described his meals as _mostly McDonald’s and gas station roller hot dogs._ Singer had made a face and dragged him right to the kitchen. They’d made the pasta from scratch as well. 

Dean dusted the top with cheese and stuck it in the oven, wiping his hands on the towel that was hanging out of his front pocket. He tossed a piece of the gouda to Sammy who caught it in the air, smacking his jaw. “Good, huh?” He plopped some shredded cheese into his mouth as well and chewed it thoughtfully. “Hope Cas likes Italian.” 

Sam sneezed in response and licked Dean’s fingers at his side. He scratched under the dog’s chin and grinned. “You’re right, Bud. Everybody likes Italian.” 

He’d picked out a red button-down shirt with his nicest pair of jeans, and he’d spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror fussing with his hair. He couldn’t remember when he’d last tried so damn hard. There was just something about Cas that made him want to put in the effort. It wasn’t like he _needed_ to impress him, but for some reason he really wanted to. 

A knock came on his door and he grinned at the dog again. “Alright Sammy, it’s showtime. How do I look?” 

Sam turned his head and jogged to the door. “Right. Don’t get too desperate. Great advice, thanks buddy.” 

Dean opened the door to find Castiel exactly the way he’d expected him. The man wore the same messy unkempt hair that he always had. It seemed too messy to be calculated, and yet he didn’t look bad. He didn’t need to be put together to look good. He just _looked good_. “Cas. Hey. Hope you found the place okay.” 

“I didn’t have any trouble, thank you.” 

“Come on in.” He held the door open a little wider to allow Cas in, and as he passed by, Dean tried to take in his scent. He didn’t smell anything. Nothing bad or good to note, but it didn’t seem odd. Castiel didn’t seem like the cologne type. He always wore the same trench coat and suit for god sakes, so Dean wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting if he was being honest. 

“You have a lovely home,” Castiel said pleasantly. His hands were clasped together in front of him. 

“Thanks. Can I get you somethin’ to drink? A glass of wine, beer?” 

“Anything is fine.” 

Dean led him back into the kitchen and gestured to the stools by the island. “I hope you like lasagna.” 

“I’m sure anything that you make would be enjoyable.” Castiel lowered himself onto the stool. 

He uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses, then leaned in closer and handed one of them to Castiel. “Hope you like red.” 

“That’s fine. Thank you.” 

Dean leaned against the counter between them and took a sip of his own glass. “That’s a nice tie. Is it new? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in any tie other than that blue one you’ve always worn.” 

“It is new.” Cas smiled in a sort of bashful, childlike way. He ran his fingers along the tie. He wsa so adorable, it made Dean’s jaw ache like he’d bitten into something sweet. “Do you like it?” 

“I do.” He took another sip of the wine. It was sweet for a red and it made his lips tingle. 

“Have you always wanted to be a firefighter?” 

“Fire killed my mom when I was a kid, so yeah I guess basically since then. The firefighters went in bravely while my dad just stood there. I wanted to be like them.” 

“You looked up to them.” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. He didn’t have his father to look up to, but a boy needed some kind of role model. He wondered who Cas’ role model was, who helped him grow into the man that he was. He leaned in a little closer, searching Cas’ eyes for answers. He wasn’t normally the guy that cared, the guy that wanted to drink in his partner, study them like he would the building plans before entering an unstable structure. There was something different about Castiel, though. He’d gotten under Dean’s skin.

“I think it’s nice to have someone to look up to.” 

“What about you, Cas?”

“What about me?”

“Who do you look up to?” 

“The obvious answer would be my father, but I am starting to think that perhaps he isn’t one to look up to either.” 

He raised an eyebrow. Looking at Cas, he would’ve never expected that they’d have much in common. His eyes lingered on Castiel’s polka dotted tie, and he guessed that the man had never had a single hair out of place in his life -- unlike Dean, who felt like most things in his life were out of place. “Your relationship not good with your parents?” 

“My relationship with my father is mostly one-sided. I don’t see him. I am just expected to blindly trust him even though he isn’t here with me.” 

“Absent fathers. I get that.” He took another sip. _More than you can know._ His eyes stung thinking about his childhood, putting out burning cigarettes when his father was passed out drunk, nights eating cold hot dogs from the fridge because his father forgot to feed him. He blinked a few times, sucking the emotion back in and locking it away for future Dean to deal with. “What about your mom?” 

“I don’t have a mother.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask Cas to elaborate. Afterall, he didn’t have a mother anymore either, and he sure as shit didn’t feel like talking about it. It wasn’t fair to expect things that he wasn’t willing to give himself. So he changed course. “Did you grow up in Chicago?” 

“No.” 

He waited for Castiel to continue, but he stayed quiet, avoiding Dean's eyes. 

Dean watched him expectantly, studying the wrinkle above his eyebrows, and the uncertain twitch of his lip. It seemed like he wanted to tell Dean, but he hadn’t fully decided. “Then where?” Dean asked slowly with caution out of respect for the things that they were too afraid to say to each other. 

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean’s and he just pointed a finger up. 

Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. “What? Canada?” 

“Not exactly.” 

Dean stood up from his comfortable lean. He felt his face curl into a frown as annoyance bubbled in his chest. He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, and he felt like he was giving Cas a mile between them for the sake of comfort, but he was taking one hundred. Going into the night Dean didn’t know what he wanted out of it, but standing there, getting half answers from Castiel, he knew exactly what he wanted. “I get not wanting to open up, but why are you being so cagey? I don’t know anything about you, Cas. I’m just tryin’ to know you.” He hated how whiny and frustrated it was all coming out. He just wasn’t sure what the point of it all was. He didn’t think this thing between them was so casual… Not that they’d specified. He just felt like it was more, and he knew that he wanted more from it-- no matter how much it terrified him to think it. 

“What do you want to know?” Castiel asked simply. 

“I don’t know Cas - everything. Where do you live? Where did you grow up? Do you have any siblings? Where do you work? Why does it seem like you always just pop up in places… Why are you always wearing that same suit?” It all kind of spilled out and as soon as it did, Dean knew he fucked up. He watched Castiel sit up a little straighter, and Dean could’ve sworn he watched the padlock click shut over Cas’ heart as he retreated back into himself a bit. He pressed his lips shut immediately and wished desperately that he could go back in time. 

“My life is complicated,” Castiel began. He looked so awkward sitting down, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his body. His back was perfectly straight, his hands in his lap. 

“But you’re _here_. What’s the point if you still keep me at arm’s length? Not really the way to get to know someone.” 

_God I sound like a fucking chick. I sound like my own worst nightmare._

“The last thing I want is to have you any length away from me, Dean. You must know that by now.” His head was down, and he seemed to be overly interested in his fingernails. 

“Then don’t do it. Talk to me, Cas. Clear up the mystery,” he begged, looking at Cas desperately. He’d dated women like this before, and he hated it, but now, looking at Cas, all he wanted was to get closer to him. He wanted all of it. 

“I’m not certain that you will like what you find once the mystery is gone.” 

“You told me you knew my soul, you really believe that, Buddy? Try me.” 

It wasn’t supposed to be a question. He wasn’t supposed to have gotten as close as he had, but as Dean walked over to Castiel’s side of the counter everything felt so much more complicated. All he wanted was to take Dean in his arms and pull him close. He wanted to know what Dean’s skin smelled like, what the callouses and scars felt like. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss Dean, but was that enough? There was so much beauty in being an angel. He had no fear. He could see the city’s widescape before of him. He could hear the song in the sunrise, even though he couldn’t feel the breeze on his cheeks. There was safety within it. If there wasn’t a way to feel, there wasn’t a way to hurt, but that wasn’t exactly a life - was it?

“Cas? You just gonna stare into space, Beautiful Mind, or are you going to talk to me?” 

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean, and he opened his mouth. In that moment he wanted to tell Dean everything. He wanted to pull him close and kiss him. He wanted to tell Dean that he planned to fall, because he’d already started to fall. It all felt so fast, so serious. He couldn’t possibly make such an extreme decision on a whim. He couldn’t throw away millennia for the slim chance that Dean might love him back. 

He couldn’t - right? 

Or maybe he didn’t have to. 

“I’m an angel,” Castiel said softly, almost as if he didn’t mean to. It came out more like a breath than a word. 

“Yeah, Cas. You’re a nice guy. I know that already.” 

Castiel frowned. Dean didn’t understand. How could he? He was human. 

He reached forward and brushed Dean’s cheek with his palm. He felt nothing, not the scrape from his whiskers, the tingle from skin on skin, nor the warmth. “You are a beautiful man, Dean Winchester. Do you know that?” 

He didn’t feel the heat travel up Dean’s neck to his cheekbones, but he watched as his tanned face darkened to a lovely shade of red. He could’ve been a Jane Austen heroine. He was lovely, soft, and breathtaking. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was like they’d been plucked right from his tongue. Castiel smiled at that. A speechless Dean Winchester was quite the sight. “You do somethin’ to me, Cas,” Dean muttered, barely audible. 

“You do something to me as well.” Many things, he feared. 

“Feel that?” Dean asked, and there was something deep in Castiel that seemed to twist. 

“No,” he whispered. 

Dean’s face faltered as Castiel dropped his hand. Dean looked hurt, his expression melting into something pained. He wanted to apologize, to reach back up to touch Dean’s cheek again, but he stopped when he saw Dean’s gaze focused on his fallen arm. “Cas you…” 

“What?” Castiel asked, his eyes flickering down to his palm pressed against the serrated knife that was left out on the counter. He pulled his hand up slowly. There was no blood, no wound of any kind. His hand was completely unchanged, despite it just having been against a blade. 

“How?” Dean asked, grabbing for his hand. “It cut you. I saw it cut you.” 

“Dean.” 

“What the _fuck?_ ” He backed up, looking at Castiel with wide eyes. “How?”

“You know how. I told you. I’m an angel.” 

“No! That’s insane. You realize that, right? You can’t be…”

“Except I am.” 

He walked toward Dean. He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to put him at ease. He wanted… he wanted a different reaction than the one that he got. He reached a hand out to Dean, who shoved Castiel back in response. “Get the fuck away from me!”

So he did. 

He closed his eyes, preventing Dean from seeing him any longer, and for the first time he felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. It was a hairline fracture in his heart. It was the beginning of the end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Dean Winchester sat, chewing at a stubborn piece of skin on his thumb. His eyes were unfocused as he thought of Cas. it was impossible - all of it was, but he had seen Castiel disappear in front of him. Maybe he was going crazy, but somehow deep inside of himself he knew that he wasn’t. It perfectly answered all of his questions, insane or otherwise. He just didn’t really know what to do with that information. How was he supposed to process _this?_

“Heard Messenger is getting out of the hospital. He’s having a welcome home party at the lake shore. You gonna go?” 

“Huh?” Dean’s eyes flickered to Jo. “You say somethin’?”

Her arms were on her hips, and she was eyeing him with a quirked eyebrow. “You haven’t been listening to me, Winchester? Seriously?”

“Sorry.” He let out a sigh, his chest feeling heavy. “I’m a little distracted.” 

“I can tell.” She lowered herself into a seat in front of him, her legs straddling the back of the chair. She leaned in to look at him. “What’s on your mind?” 

He shrugged. “Nothin’, just tired. What were you saying a second ago?” 

She pursed her lips like she was considering asking him again, but she refrained. “I was saying that Messenger is getting out of the hospital. He’s stabilized, and he’s having some sort of coming home party. He invited the whole department. I knew you were interested in him, so I figured you’d want to know.” 

At the mention of Gabe his eyes flickered up to her, Castiel flashing in his mind. 

He’d been back to work for a week, and he hadn’t heard from Cas once. He’d calmed down. The shock had basically worn off, and he was desperate for answers. Dean Winchester didn’t believe in God, but if he’d truly been falling in love with an angel this whole time - fuck he might have to reconsider. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. You going?”

Jo shrugged, resting her chin against the back of the chair. A blonde curl fell in her eye. “I don’t know. I don’t really like that emotional stuff.” 

Dean frowned. “Neither do I.” 

She raised an eyebrow and let out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Winchester, it isn’t supposed to be a dig, I’m just saying that you feel. It’s okay to feel. You don’t have to be all cold inside like the rest of us.” 

“I didn’t use to care,” he grumbled, thinking about his blue eyed angel again. 

“Not sure when this _used to_ happen, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been like this.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “Come on, Harvell.”

“No, you come on. You do this job, because you love it. You’re in it to help people. You’ve always been soft, Winchester. Don’t treat it like it’s a bad thing.” She stood up and stretched, letting out a groan as her arms stretched above her head. Her shirt rose up a bit exposing the skin of her stomach.

Dean and Jo had never been like _that_ , but he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it, because he definitely had. He just figured he shouldn’t be fucking his coworkers. Not when their lives were so dangerous. 

“It’s just not the way I was raised. My dad wasn’t exactly an emotional guy.” 

“Neither was my mom. In the end, though, it’s more about whether we choose to become our parents or learn from them. Just something to think about.” She turned her head allowing her neck to crack before she shot him a wide grin. “Well I’m out of here. My shift ended a half hour ago, and unlike you, I do have a life.” 

Dean crossed his arms and shot her a look. “Well, if you’re not goin’ to Gabe’s thing then can you cover for me?”

Jo turned to him and shot him a smirk. She shrugged in response. “Guess so.” 

“Jo?”

“Huh?”

“Thanks,” Dean said softly, offering her a small smile. 

She shrugged again in response. “It ain’t no thing, Winchester.” 

But it was a big thing. It was huge. 

“You are being _reckless,_ Castiel!” Hannah shouted, exacerbated. 

His arms were crossed at his chest, and instead of an ageless angel, he looked like an absolute child. He looked almost human. “Hannah, what is it about me falling that has you in such a way?” His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He couldn’t fathom why she would care what he did. He didn’t think she was even capable. 

His words seemed to suck the breath right from her lips and she just pressed them closed in response. Her eyes fell, and she blinked a few times. “Castiel I… I suppose I just cannot imagine a life that doesn’t have you in it.” 

His face softened at that. He’d had her wrong all of this time. “Hannah.” His arms fell to his sides, and he took her hand in his. “I am feeling things… things that I never thought were possible for an angel to feel. I’m afraid. I’m afraid to fall, to make the wrong choice, but more than anything I’m afraid of the way that he looked at me when he learned the truth.” 

She met his eyes with a sadness that was far too human, and she seemed to swallow as she put her words together. “In all of this time you are the closest thing I’ve had to a friend. If you fall, nothing will ever be this way again.”

“You’re right. It won’t, but does that have to be a bad thing?” 

“Perhaps not, but I can’t seem to place this…” She rubbed her breastbone with the heel of her palm. 

“It’s pain, Hannah,” Castiel said, a twinge of regret in his voice. “I feel it, too.” 

“How is it possible?” 

“I’m not certain we were ever supposed to be numb. I’m just starting to believe that it may have been the only way to keep us separated from the humans.” He reached forward and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t lean into his touch or even acknowledge it. “I’m afraid to fall, Hannah, but I may be more afraid of what happens if I don’t.” 

“You love him,” Hannah said, her voice completely broken. 

“I do,” Castiel said simply, as if those two little words weren’t the most heavy words that had ever been spoken out loud. 

She let out a slow, uneasy breath. Angels didn’t have to breathe. They didn’t have to, but she did anyway. It was a release, as if she was opening up a valve to let out steam to keep her from exploding from the pain that was building inside of her. “Perhaps you can talk to him… maybe there is a compromise. Maybe you can have both.” She was gripping his coat tightly and looking up at him with a desperation that he’d never seen in her before. 

Castiel understood, of course he did. They were expected to be a certain way. They were expected to trust blindly in a god they’ve never met. They were expected to continue as they always had without asking questions, and in the end the only others they could truly trust was each other. He nodded to her slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.” 

Perhaps she would be. Castiel pulled her into a hug, eliciting a surprised gasp as her body was yanked forward unexpectedly. Even after everything, Castiel hadn’t lost hope. It was the one thing he’d always been able to count on, and it wasn’t something he was ready to sacrifice. He knew he loved Dean. It had happened fast, like he’d been falling long before he ever saw the fireman’s eyes that day in the blaze. He’d been falling, and Dean had caught him. If Dean loved him even a fraction compared to how he loved Dean then perhaps there was room for some kind of middle ground. 

And as he pulled Hannah against him, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, he could’ve sworn he felt her breath against his skin.

Even though the air was cold and the Chicago wind whistled through the trees off the lake, Gabe was having his welcome home party outside. Children ran and screamed as they played tag; they didn’t mind the weather much either. 

“I like the cold,” he explained to Dean. “I like feeling it. I don’t mind if it hurts a bit.”

“I’m not a fan.” Dean pulled his coat closed uncomfortably. “Especially with the wind, but it is a good view.” He looked out on the lake, waves lapping at the shore.

He hadn’t seen Cas, and it hurt him more than he was willing to admit. They had a lot to talk about, but he had to _see_ Castiel in order to tell him how he felt. 

“You seem down, Dean. Is it the cold?” Gabriel asked, his eyes closed, his face toward the sun. If it weren’t for the chill in the wind it would almost be warm. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. 

But Dean wasn’t thinking about any of that. He only thought of how the blue sky of the morning looked just like the eyes of his angel.

“No. It isn’t the cold,” he admitted softly. He didn’t mean to, not really. He glanced at Gabe , suddenly feeling guilty. “I’m fine. Sorry. Not tryin’ to make this all about me. It’s your party!”

Gabriel chuckled, breathlessly and low. He stood slowly, taking his cane in his hand. He was young, not much older than Dean, and he was dying. It felt like everything was so short, limited. “Come for a walk with me.” 

“Okay,” Dean said simply, standing up. 

Gabriel began to walk slowly toward the shore, favoring the cane. His cannula was swung over his shoulder like a backpack. The tube traveled from the bag into his nose to give him oxygen. “Thank you for coming, Dean,” Gabriel gasped. Somehow even with the dark circles under his eyes and his blue-tinted lips from his low oxygen levels he still smiled devilishly, like he had a secret.

“Sure thing.” 

“Although I am beginning to suspect that you didn’t come to see little old me.” 

Dean recoiled, opening his mouth to speak, but Gabriel cut him off. “Don’t bother lying to a dying man, Dean. It’s bad karma if I’ve ever heard of it.” His pace was slowing, almost as if his lungs couldn’t quite keep up with his body. 

Dean offered his arm to Gabe, who took it willingly with a look of thanks. He wasn’t too proud, Dean noticed. “I haven’t seen him,” Gabriel said softly as their shoes squished into the sandy shore. 

“Who?”

“You know who, Dean.” 

He did. 

“I thought he’d be here, too.” 

“I expect he is.” His eyes flickered to Dean’s as if he expected some sort of reaction. His eyebrows shot up as Dean found himself sucking in his breath. “He told you?” 

Dean nodded slowly. “You _know_?” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Gabriel’s lips, and he patted Dean’s forearm. “I know everything.” 

He could feel hurt throb in his chest with every heartbeat. “It feels impossible.” 

“It’s very possible. You’ve had to know that for some time, though.” 

“I didn’t even believe in God… I don’t…” He sighed and shook his head. “Fuck, I don’t know what to think, and he isn’t _here_.” 

“I don’t think Castiel will ever be too far from you, Dean.” 

He turned his head to look at Gabriel, and he was met with a softness that he didn’t expect. They’d stopped walking and Gabe squeezed Dean’s arm. “Angels aren’t meant for all of this.” Using his cane, he gestured to the water, the sun midsky, and then back to his family playing in the grass. “To be honest, Dean, I’m not sure that the angels believe in God either.” 

“But Cas said--” 

“Cas more than anyone,” Gabe let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “He has been courting humanity longer than you’ve been alive, but he never found a reason for it until _you_ , kid.” 

“He’s an angel,” Dean said, trying it out on his tongue. It felt weird, a little wrong. “And I’m just a man.” 

“That may be precisely why he fell in love with you.” 

_Love._

Dean thought he might be sick, or scream from a rooftop. “He can’t love me.” His voice was far more broken than he’d expected it to be. In his head he sounded strong, but it came out so much more needy and weak. “I am just a blink for him.” 

“You can’t possibly understand, because you are human. But the fact that you are human makes you so special. Castiel told me that when you look at him you truly see him. Angels are never seen, Dean. Much like God, it is all about faith. Do we have to see his face to know he exists? It doesn’t have to make sense to you, but just like faith, love isn’t something you can see. It isn’t something that can be explained.”

He shook his head, an anger bubbling inside of him. “I can’t accept that, Gabe. I…” His eyes stung, and he tried with everything inside of him to swallow down the lump that had grown in his throat. “What kind of God would let us meet if we could never be together? I can’t believe in that… it’s too fucked up.” 

“Dean, listen to me.” He wedged his cane under his arm so he could hold each one of Dean’s arms to make him look at him. “Castiel knows no fear, no pain, no hunger…” Dean’s heart raced, his head pounding, but he could no longer feel the cold on his fingers, or Gabe’s grip on the arms of his coat. All he could see was the hazel eyes staring at him intently. “He hears music in the sunrise, but he’d give it all up. He loves you that much.” 

He gasped for breath, a sob threatening its way out of him, fighting alongside his heart behind his ribs. “I don’t understand.” 

He’d already thought it through. They could be together, sure, for the entirety of Dean’s given life. They’d have a hand full of years together and maybe they would be beautiful, but Dean would always be human. Castiel was not. He didn’t even know if that’s what Cas wanted… he’d hoped to ask him, there by the shore, but he stood with Gabriel instead. 

“He can fall, Dean. He can give up his existence as he knows it, eternity, and become one of us, _human_.” 

It was like the world had stopped spinning. “What?” 

“It sounds crazy,” Gabe admitted. “But it’s true.” 

_Human._

“How do you know all of this?” 

“Because I did it.” 

It was like a slap in the face. It felt as if Gabe had shoved him into the water. Cold, and striking. He could hardly catch his breath. “You were…” 

“An angel. Yes. Maybe you should sit, kid. You don’t look so good.” 

Dean nodded quickly, lowering himself into the sand. Gabriel followed suit on shaking legs. “I love the way the water smells,” Gabe said, unlacing his shoes to put his toes in the cold sand. 

“You were an angel.” 

“Don’t miss much, do you?” 

Dean shot him a look. It was too fucking much to handle and the dude was making jokes.

“Right, sorry.” He nodded slowly, putting his hands in the sand.

“Wait… You were an angel, and you fell…” 

“Yes.” 

_And now he’s dying._

“How long ago?” 

He tapped his chin a few times as if he was thinking. “My little girl is six so… I guess almost eight years ago.” 

“You’re sick.” 

“I know, Dean.” 

He thought he was going to throw up, his stomach twisting. “You’re being punished for falling.” It wasn’t a question. 

“No,” Gabe let out a breathless laugh. “I don’t think I am.” 

“You fell and you got cancer.” 

“Is that what happened? Damn, I didn’t even notice,” Gabriel said flatly. “I’m aware of my situation, Dean. I don’t need a play by play, but if you’re asking if God is wrathful, because I chose to be with my wife… the answer is no. He gave me free will the same way that he gave it to you. Guess I just drew an unlucky card, but I’d do it again. Holding my little girl in my arms, the day I married my wife… it’s worth it all. Yeah, the song in the sunset is a catchy tune, but it’s nothing compared to feeling the rain on your face or a kiss after a really heated fight. That woman over there,” Gabriel said, pointing back to his wife, who cradled a sleeping toddler. “She’s worth it all. Eternity isn’t anything if you’re alone.” 

Dean’s lip tingled, a memory of Cas’ pressing against his, and he knew somewhere deep inside that Gabriel was right. “You fell for her.” 

“Yes, to be with her.” 

“Did you ever think about trying it the other way?”

“You mean not to fall?” Gabriel asked and when Dean nodded he made a soft _hm_ sound. “No, I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to her. It would’ve been a half life. I couldn’t feel her, you know? She could feel me, but it was sort of like watching a 3D movie… it _looks_ like you are there, but you never are. You never can be. It wouldn’t have been enough for either of us. It’s all or nothing. At least that’s what it was like for me.” 

“How do I find him?” Dean asked after a moment. 

“Pray to him. He’ll hear you. I’m sure he isn’t as far away as you think he might be.” 

“Don’t know much about prayin’.” 

Gabriel chuckled and looked out to the sun and closed his eyes. “I bet it comes a lot easier than you’d expect.” 

_Cas, here goes nothin’. I hope you have your ears on, cause I’m not sure if you can hear me or whatever. I feel kinda stupid doin’ this, but here I am…_

Castiel’s ears perked up. He’d been giving Dean space. He’d been spending his time thinking, or at least _trying_ to. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know where to start. He thought about asking Gabriel, but he knew where he stood on the matter already. He was Team Fall. Hell, until recently so was Castiel. 

_Cas, buddy, you there?_

He didn’t understand how Dean could be so charming, so beautiful, and so human all at once. Perhaps it was just humanity that Castiel was in love with. 

_Cas, we need to talk. Just for a second, okay. I’m sure you’re busy with lots of angel business, but I’ve got some stuff to say. I owe you an apology, at least._

It’d probably be easier if he just never saw Dean again. It’d be easier for both of them. 

_God I’m such an idiot. You’re probably not even listening to me. I get the message._

But when had Castiel ever done the easy thing? 

Dean sat on the same bench that they’d sat on when they shared the croissants. His arms rested on his thighs, his hands were clasped and pressed to his forehead. He felt like a fucking idiot, talking into the void. He’d scared Cas off, and he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing Lisa’s name pop up on his screen. “Lis, what’s up?” 

“I’ve been thinking, Dean.” 

“Uh, hey to you, too.” 

“I miss you,” she murmured into the phone. He hadn’t hardly thought about her since she’d left, if he was being honest, but he was never honest with her, not really. He leaned back on the bench, looking out at the water and the sun kissing the horizon. 

“What’s goin’ on, Lis?”

“I don’t want to keep doing this.” 

“This?” She was breaking up with him. He wasn’t exactly surprised. 

“Being apart. Being… off. I’m getting older, Dean. I’m over the games. If you want to be with me, then be with me. Let’s go to Rufus’ cabin this weekend and tie the knot. I have some time off, and I’ve already talked to your captain. He approved the time off…” She was rattling on and he couldn’t quite answer her, because it hadn’t even sunk in. 

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t want to lose you, Dean.” 

He opened his mouth to say… what? He couldn’t say she wouldn’t lose him, because he was hanging by a thread at best, though the thread hadn’t been cut yet. Castiel wasn’t human, and Lisa was. She’d been a good woman for him all this time. She obviously loved him. 

He couldn’t stop watching Gabriel gasp for breath. _Eight years._ Would it be worth it? Eight years just to watch Castiel wither away into nothing? When Castiel could have eternity? 

He already felt a pain growing inside of him. It was the pain of a selfish man. He already knew he was selfish, but love wasn’t about being selfish. It was the opposite, he already knew that much. “Let me think about it, Lis, okay? It’s a lot.” 

“I know… I just…” 

“Sorry, it’s just not a good time. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I gotta sleep on it.” 

“Of course Dean. I love you.” 

“Bye, Lis.” 

_Click._

He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. He didn’t know what to do, or worse than that, he did. He just didn’t know if he was strong enough to do it. 

He clasped his hands together again and cleared his throat before whispering. 

“Cas, here goes nothin’. I hope you have your ears on, cause I’m not sure if you can hear me or whatever. I feel kinda stupid doin’ this, but here I am…” 

Dean looked beautiful, as always. His head was tilted in prayer when Castiel appeared in front of him. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to ignore the man’s call. Their bond was short, but already too strong to ignore. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Cas,” Dean said, looking startled. He sat up straight and immediately scratched the back of his head. “Didn’t think you were comin’.” 

“Neither did I,” Cas admitted. “May I sit?” 

“Please,” Dean said, scooting to make room for him.

Castiel lowered himself down next to Dean, and their thighs brushed, but Castiel felt nothing. The absence of Dean’s touch rang as a sort of emptiness in him. It was more of an echo of what could be, like ringing a bell inside a church. “I have been thinking about our last interaction.” 

“So have I.” 

Castiel turned to him, his eyes catching Dean’s green ones. They were a unique green, one that he hadn’t seen much in his time. Or perhaps it was just _Dean_ that made them seem to glow. “I would like to speak first, if you don’t mind.” 

Dean’s lips parted, full and pink, to let out a breath or a word that didn’t come. He just nodded, and it took all of Castiel’s restraint to not kiss him. To not just try for the phantom feeling that their lips brushing could have. He took Dean’s hand in his instead. 

“I didn’t tell you, before... the most important thing.” 

“More important than you being an angel?” Dean chuckled, slowly turning his hand so his palm brushed Castiel’s.

“Yes, much more important.” 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m in love with you, Dean,” Castiel said slowly, carefully, and with purpose. No matter what else happened, he had to be sure that Dean at least knew that much. 

Something flickered across Dean’s face, and even after centuries of watching and observing humans Castiel still wasn’t able to place that look. He couldn’t name it. They were quiet for a beat, the air thick between them. “Say something,” Castiel pleaded quietly. _Say it back._

“Cas I… I’m human.” 

“I know, Dean.” 

“You’re… not human.” 

It was almost like being struck. He winced and nodded. “I know that, too, Dean.” 

Dean laughed bitterly, breathlessly, and he shook his head. “I really don’t know what to do with that information, ya know?” 

“I have a few suggestions,” Castiel offered, squeezing Dean’s hand. He may as well have been squeezing empty air, static. 

Dean looked down at their joined hands and frowned before looking back up into Castiel’s eyes. “You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that? Those eyes are just… they’re something else. Can’t quite look at the sky anymore without thinking of those eyes.” 

“You are beautiful, too, Dean.” 

“I won’t always be, though. You get that, right? I look good now, but it won’t last. You, though.” He pulled his hand away to trace Castiel’s cheekbone. “You’ll always be this way.” 

“You’ll always be beautiful to me, Dean.” 

His hand dropped from Castiel’s cheek and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. His breath escaped the parted lips trembling before he let himself smile. “Cas, I can’t do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“This. Me and you it… it’s too much.” 

“Dean, don’t…” Castiel reached for him, but he stood up to back away. 

“Lisa called me. She asked me to go away this weekend. She wants me to marry her.” 

“You don’t love her,” Castiel said, pain flashing through him. “I can tell.” 

“What do you know about love, Cas? It’s not all… it’s not all rainbows, okay? Her and I… we have history. We’ve built somethin’ together. I can’t just throw that away for… for whatever this is.” 

“This is real, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head. “It can’t ever be real. You get that, right? Lisa and I… we are the same. I want someone who can feel me when I touch them.” 

“But you can feel me,” Castiel said desperately. He took Dean’s hands in his. “You can feel me.” 

Dean blinked, tears in the corners of his eyes. He offered Castiel a sad smile as he pulled his hands from his grasp. “But you can’t feel me. I can’t live a half life. I need to be with someone alive.” Dean reached up and brushed Castiel’s cheek again. When he pulled his hand back Castiel saw the shimmer of water on his thumb. No, not water. Castiel was crying. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t do this, Dean.” 

“I have to, Cas. This is… this is goodbye.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

_“But you can’t feel me, Cas.”_

How does it feel? To be touched, to feel the rain, to feel heartbreak? Did it feel like this? 

Castiel stood on the edge of the roof of Willis Tower, 1,353 feet in the air. The Chicago wind ripped at him, pushing and pulling. He thought about Hannah, and the disappointment painted on her face.

Then he thought of Dean. 

Dean sitting on his bed with his face buried in strong hands, shoulders absolutely defeated. He thought about the look on Dean’s face when Castiel told him he loved him. It should’ve been the beginning. It should’ve been everything, but somehow the moment he arrived it had already looked like the end. 

Maybe it was always destined to end. 

_“I want someone who can feel me when I touch them.”_

Castiel wanted that too. He wanted to feel Dean’s hand. He wanted to feel everything. He wanted to taste that lasagna that they never got to eat, to feel the softness of Sam’s fur, and the warmth of Dean’s kiss. 

It was a risk-- what he was considering. Loving Dean, letting it all go, _falling_. He risked giving up on being an angel, being immortal, trading it instead for a handful of years and pain; but as he watched Dean walk away from him, Castiel knew that there was so much more at risk if he didn’t fall. 

He would give up eternity, his life, and the song in the sunset for five minutes with Dean - for a _life_ with Dean. 

When he thought of it that way, it was an easy answer, and he couldn’t figure out why he’d been so afraid before. 

Castiel knew that falling was defined as a verb, to move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level. Perhaps it was something else altogether. Perhaps falling wasn’t something that a person did, but rather something that happened to them. Maybe he’d been falling all this time, and he just wouldn’t notice until he hit the ground. By then it would be too late. 

He only hoped, as he stood on top of the building, that it wouldn’t be too late to show Dean that he could be with someone alive. 

He stared at the city he loved, at all the angels, all the souls that lit up the city, his toes hanging over the edge of the scaffolding. His arms extended like wings, his trench coat catching the wind and flapping wildly. It was a leap of faith and angels didn’t know much, but they did know faith.

_“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”_

_“There was this fireman, and I could’ve sworn that he looked right at me.”_

_“He worries about you. He doesn’t think you sleep enough.”_

_“I’ve lived, Cas. After a millennium of watching other people live, I finally got to live.”_

_“I think I know your soul, too.”_

_“I’m in love with you, Dean.”_

_“I need to be with someone alive.”_

__

He didn’t feel his foot teeter off the edge. He expected there to be this defined moment, a decision and then a step, but it happened so much faster than that. He went from standing on the ledge to plummeting downwards, and fast.

Years and years of nothing shot through the sky, and he could see his reflection blurring in the windows of Willis Tower as he fell head first toward the ground. And suddenly his answer was there. It was like forgetting a word, it had always been on the tip of his tongue, but he could never name it. He could feel the wind on his face, flapping through his coat, pushing his hair back. It was cold. _This is what cold feels like!_

And then he hit with a hard _smack_ , and he wondered if he’d been the butt of a cruel, unnatural joke. He wondered if the fall would kill him as he felt a pointed, throbbing ache that he couldn’t quite name. His face was scraping against the asphalt, and the blaring sound of cars honking made his ears ring. 

He placed his palms done to help himself up, the broken pieces of gravel digging into his hands. 

“Did you jump?!” A woman asked, as she flung her car door open. “Oh my god.” 

God had nothing to do with it. 

“What is this? Is this blood?” Castiel asked as he looked at his red, seeping hands. 

“Yes.” She crouched in front of him and took his hands in her own to examine them. “You are very lucky to be alive. Did you hit your head? What’s your name?” 

“I’m bleeding.” He stared at his hands, completely perplexed. He’d seen blood on other people before, more times than he could count. But angels didn’t bleed. He knew that for certain. “I’m _bleeding._ ” And suddenly, like a madman, he began to laugh. 

“Sir, I think you have a head injury. What’s your name?” she asked insistently. 

“Castiel,” he said with a breathless laugh. “My name is Castiel.” 

“Castiel, my name is Lacey. I’m going to help you, okay? We need to get you to a hospital.”

The woman tugged on his arm. He could feel the ache of his bruises against the pressure of his arm. He could feel the rub of the fabric of his clothing against his skin. He grabbed her hand in his and he looked into her eyes. They were hazel, brown with hints of green. Before, when he was an angel, he could see everything in a person's eyes. He could see every blood vessel. He could see the inner workings of their cornea. But now? Now it was just hazel glinting in the sunlight. It was magnificent.

He couldn’t wait to see Dean's eyes. 

“No. To the fire department.”

Her eyebrows came together. “You’re hurt. You need to see a doctor.”

She didn’t understand. He had to see Dean. He had to show him that he was alive. 

“I need to see Dean,” he said, as if that was supposed to mean anything to her. “Please,” he said desperately. “Take me to Dean.” 

She helped him stand on trembling legs. It hurt to stand. _It hurt!_ Castiel never expected to feel joy shoot through him as clearly as the pain that pulsed throughout his entire body. It was all strong. Every feeling was overwhelming. He now understood why babies cried. It was too much, but nothing was stronger than his desire to see Dean. He needed to see Dean more than he needed to make the pain go away, more than he needed air, water, more than he ever needed faith. 

“Are you in pain?” Lacey asked anxiously, glancing at him in the passenger seat of the car. “In your chest?” 

He had barely noticed that he was rubbing his sternum with the heel of his palm. There was an aching deep within him that wasn’t comparable to any other pain. “I think I have fallen,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” she said tightly. “I think you did.” 

He knew that it wasn’t a physical injury that caused the radiating ache through his chest. It wasn’t what she thought. It was his heart. His soul. It was the pulsing of pain, a throb of every beat of his heart. He was in love. He’d fallen in love with Dean long before he’d ever fallen from grace. 

She stopped the vehicle in front of the firehouse, after some time of quiet in the car, her knuckles white from squeezing the steering wheel tightly. She looked stressed, and before he fell, Castiel would’ve known exactly what she was feeling. He would’ve been able to touch into her mind and pluck out the thoughts that plagued her. He could’ve helped her, but now all that he could hear was the woosh of blood in his ears, and the thick palpable silence in the car. 

He reached for the handle before pausing, his fingers hovering over it. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” She asked him, nervously. 

“No,” he admitted. “I’m unsure of everything.” Castiel offered her a wary smile. “What if he doesn’t love me back?” The question slipped out of his lips without permission, before he was able to think it through. 

Lacey’s expression softened as she finally seemed to understand. “I know I don’t know you, but he would be crazy to not love you back. Whoever he is.” 

Castiel nodded slowly. He hoped with every molecule of him that she was right. “Thank you for the assistance.” 

“Please get your head checked out.” 

“I will,” he promised with a certainty that could only come from an angel. 

He exited her car and stared at the firehouse for a moment. He didn’t have time to think, to process, to consider the implications of what he was considering. The gravity of what he’d already done. He had to go to Dean before it was too late. Castiel entered the firehouse, limping on his injured leg. “Hello?” He called out. 

A woman was lounging at a set of tables and chairs, her feet up, and she was mid-bite on her sandwich when she looked up at him through blonde loose curls. “Can I help you?” 

“I am looking for Dean,” he said breathlessly, his stomach flipping with nerves. He’d almost forgotten how to breathe, how to make his mouth from the words he needed to say. _I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve fallen. I’m human. This is real. I’m alive._

He didn’t know how he would look at Dean and not spill everything at his feet. How he would be able to look at Dean and stop himself from kissing him immediately. His heart picked up at the idea. _Kissing Dean!_ He’d done it before, but it hadn’t been real. He hadn’t felt it. Dean was right. It wasn’t the same when he couldn’t feel it. 

How could it ever be?

“Dean Winchester?” The woman asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Yes.” 

“You okay? You look like you’ve had an accident. Let me take a look…” 

“I am fine. I just need to find Dean.” Castiel sounded desperate. Hell, he _was_ desperate. 

Her expression softened. “Oh,” she whispered. “You’re him.” 

“I am who?” 

She smiled and shook her head. “I’m Jo Harvell.” 

“Hello,” Castiel said uncomfortably. The broken skin on his face was stinging and throbbing, and he was starting to fear that he may not fair well for long.

“He came in here earlier, mumbling like a crazy person.” 

“Dean was here?” His heart leaped and suddenly he didn’t feel as hurt as he had a breath before. “Where is he?” 

She looked at him sadly. “He’s gone.” 

_Earlier That Day_

Dean came crashing into the firehouse. It was his safe place, after all. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and Sammy at his side. He reached down and unlatched his leash. “Go see Benny,” he instructed the dog, patting his back. 

“What’re you doing, Winchester?” Jo asked from the direction of the coffee maker. She was looking tired. She’d been on duty, sleeping at the firehouse. They’d had a late call from what he’d heard through the grapevine, and she was pouring herself a cup, which meant she didn’t intend to go back to sleep any time soon. 

“I just need… Fuck I don’t know.” He lowered himself down to sit at the table, his face falling in his hands. 

He heard Jo snort, and then he caught the sound of chair legs scraping against the tile floor as she settled into her chair. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothin’,” he mumbled into his hands. 

“Obviously that’s not true. Out with it, I’m too damn tired to deal with the dance, okay?” 

He looked up at her through his fingers and sighed. “Lis wants me to marry her. Make an honest woman out of her and all that.” 

Jo was mid sip of her coffee, and she almost spit it out. “Excuse me?” 

“That was kind of my reaction.”

“So she proposed to you?” 

“Not in those words… but yeah, kinda.” 

“Did she get down on one knee and everything?” Jo asked, snickering. 

“This isn’t funny!” Dean groaned, running his fingers through his hair. Sammy nudged his knee, probably trying to comfort him, sensing the energy that vibrated off of him. 

“Sorry, sorry.” She held up her hands, and her expression softened just a bit. “Why are you so conflicted? You have been with her for long enough. What’re you waiting for?” 

“I don’t know,” he lied with a wince. “Lis is great.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“It’s not her that’s the problem. It’s me.”

“Well that’s pretty clear, but what more specifically?” 

“I just… sometimes I wonder if this is all there is, ya know?” 

Jo’s eyebrow quirked up, and she sipped her coffee. “No, not really. What do you mean?” 

“Lately I’ve been thinkin’ about the end… about fate, love, I don’t know. I sound like a Taylor Swift song.” 

“It’s okay to question things, Dean. We know not everything is so black and white. What’re you really worried about?”

“What if I make the wrong choice?” He asked, his chest cracking in response as if he knew in his heart that it would be the wrong choice. He ignored it. 

“Why would she be the wrong choice? Is there a _better_ choice?” She eyed him. “Are you seeing someone else?” 

“I… no. I’m not. There’s no one else I can be with.” The words tangled in his mouth, twisting with his tongue, making him choke and swallow air. 

Jo was quiet, examining him. “Fuck, Winchester. Is it Gabe? Isn’t he married?” 

“What?” Dean asked, alarmed. “ _No!_ Why would you even suggest that?” 

“You’ve been obsessed,” she shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe you’re just having some kind of crisis after the fire. All I know is that you’ve managed to get this far. That has to be worth something, right? You can’t give up on something like that. Not for anything.” 

“Damn it, Jo,” Dean said, standing up. “Fuck, you’re right. I can’t just quit, not on something like this. Not for a fling. The rest’ll work out. It’s gotta, right?” His heart was racing, the possibilities running through his head. He could see Lis in a white dress, standing at Rufus’ cabin, with Sammy sitting next to him, looking up with those puppy eyes. It would be a good life, he knew it would. They got along just fine. The sex was good. He wasn’t lying to Cas when he said that they were the same. They could have kids one day, and Sam would love to have someone to play with him when Dean was at the station too long. It was easy. It was _simple_. It made sense. 

And his gut tugged at him to go with the only logical thing as his world toppled on its axis, threatening to toss him off into space. 

“He is gone _where_?” Castiel asked desperately, grabbing for the chair to keep himself upright. 

“To the cabin,” she said softly. 

“The cabin? Where is that?” 

A look of deep sorrow flashed across Jo’s face. “I have the address… but I’m not sure you should go.” 

“Why not?” 

“Lisa asked him to marry her. She asked him to come to the cabin and marry her.” 

It felt like the floor had dropped out from under him, and he was falling again, crashing, soaring downward. His breathing sped up, and he tried to suck in more air, never seeming to fill his lungs. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he held his chest. 

“Damn it,” Jo murmured, pulling a discarded fast food bag out of the trash, dumping it and putting it over Castiel’s mouth. “Breathe. Inflate the bag. Focus on that, or you’ll pass out.” 

_In. Out. Fill the bag. In. Out._ His eyes stung. “He can’t,” Cas gasped, once his breathing had finally calmed down. “He can’t marry her.” 

“I’m not sure that’s up to us,” Jo said softly, patting his back. 

“I have to try,” he turned and looked up at her. It wasn’t her fault. She had no idea what he had given up for this chance. She didn’t know how much he wanted Dean, how much he needed him. She didn’t know. Dean hadn’t told her. Castiel tried not to read too deeply into that. 

She chewed on her lip as if she was considering, before she shrugged. “Fuck it. Okay. I’ll drive.” 

He nodded, his heart warming just a bit. Maybe there was still time. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

“I never thought they were right for each other,” Jo said intently. “I just want my friend to be happy.” 

“I want to make him happy.” 

She grinned at that and grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go, lover boy. Maybe we can catch him before the vows.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Before the fall, Castiel spent a lot of time watching Dean. He was fascinated with the fireman. He had been stationed on earth for centuries, observing from the sidelines. It was so much of the same, but watching Dean felt different. It was like Castiel was getting to learn everything about Dean without having to intrude, insert himself. He was falling in love with Dean through the veil. 

Dean cooking, looking so focused with his tongue half out of his mouth. Chopping, measuring, and missing that bit of sauce on the corner of his mouth. 

Dean on a run with Sam, sweating, pushing himself to the breaking point. He would run until the dog was panting and asleep at his feet, his tongue still out in the water bowl. 

He’d spend his mornings scoping the internet and newspaper for fires he may have missed, cases of arson, or even cats up trees. He missed being in the station, it was driving him mad. 

One night he just stood in the shower under the hot water for an hour. His eyes were closed, his muscles tense, as the water ran over his newly healed arm. He leaned against the tile, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked pensive, pained. 

It took everything in him not to step behind the frosted glass, into the shower behind him, and leave a trail of kisses across his tense shoulders. He wanted to calm Dean, to know what worried him, to make him smile. But he couldn’t. Dean didn’t know he was there. 

Sam, though, did. 

The dog would look at Castiel with that tilted head look and ask him _why_? 

Castiel didn’t have the answer. He didn’t feel he had _any_ answers, if he was being honest. All he had was the want, the yearning to be closer to Dean. 

“Cas?” Dean called out, his voice full of pain. “You there?” 

He knew what Castiel was. He knew that Castiel was an angel so there was no real reason to hide from Dean anymore. Except Castiel couldn’t make himself be seen, no matter how many times Dean called out to him. No matter how much he wanted to. He was blocked by a twisting feeling deep in his gut. 

He didn’t have a name for it then, the feeling of dread that settled inside of him. He could’ve named the feeling after the green eyed man who called out to him even in his sleep, because the thing that crippled him was the thought of Dean asking Cas to never see him again. _Telling_ him to leave forever. The idea of never seeing Dean again stopped Castiel dead in his tracks. He was frozen in space and time. 

“Cas? Just… please, come on.” 

It was futile. There was a reason that angels shouldn’t communicate with the living. It wasn’t something Castiel ever understood, but standing there in front of Dean he felt so close to the man that he loved, a breath away, yet they may as well have been separated by a galaxy. Because Dean was human, so beautifully human, and Castiel wasn’t. There was no amount of time and space that could change that fact. 

So Castiel stayed in the shadows, and no matter how much it hurt him, he listened to Dean call his name out into the darkness for the rest of the night. 

_Present_

Jo wasn’t driving fast enough, in Castiel’s opinion. He missed his instant teleportation. His flight with a single thought. In retrospect if he were to do the fall a different way, he thought perhaps he would choose a location just a bit closer to the cabin, a bit closer to Dean. “Can’t you drive any faster, Jo?” 

“Castiel, if you ask me that one more time I will slap the shit out of you,” Jo warned without turning to look at him. 

He’d asked a minimum of five times previously. Time had meant nothing to Castiel before the fall, minutes, seconds, years… they were a concept made by man. A concept that didn’t affect him much, but the moment he hit the ground it felt like the moments were slipping through his fingers. He didn’t have enough time. They’d never have enough time. 

Jo glanced at him after a while of silence. “So what happened to you exactly?” 

“I fell.” 

She laughed lightly and shook her head. “Well that’s pretty obvious.” 

He looked to her curiously, unsure of how anything about his situation could be humorous. 

She glanced at him again, her expression softening just a bit. “This thing between you and Dean… it’s real, isn’t it?” 

He nods solemnly. “I believe that it is.” 

“You love him?” 

“More than I ever thought was possible.” 

“I hope it works out for you two, I really do.” 

“Thank you. That is kind of you to say.” 

“I’ve seen him around Lisa, and he’s never really been like this with her. They’re okay together but it isn’t… I don’t know. Magic? That sounds lame, but.” 

“No,” Castiel said softly. “That’s exactly what it’s like.” 

“What’re you going to say to him?” 

He hadn’t thought about that up until that point. What was there to say? “I don’t know. What should I say?” He asked, suddenly incredibly exhausted, drained, and becoming a little hopeless.

“I’m not sure I can answer that for you. Maybe once you see him you’ll know what to say.” 

“I’ve never been good with words,” he said uncomfortably. “What if I say the wrong thing?” 

Jo considered this for a moment, tapping her finger on the steering wheel. “I think if he loves you it won’t matter what you say.” 

He hoped that she was right. He didn’t know what he would do if Dean turned him away. He could imagine himself standing there, vulnerable and human with a broken heart. He didn’t know how he would possibly survive that. 

They pulled up to the cabin, and Jo put the car in park, turning to look at him. She looked at him curiously, examining him, before she loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button, she tousled his hair and smiled as if she was proud of herself. “You look good. Well, as good as you can with all of that dirt and blood.” 

“Hopefully it will be enough.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” She asked him softly. “In case you need a ride back?” 

He shook his head and unbuckled his seatbelt. “No, I can find my own way back if that happens.” 

If Dean rejected him he would have far bigger issues than how he would be getting back to Chicago. “Thank you, Jo, for everything.” 

“You’re welcome, kid.” She put the car in reverse. “You got this.” 

He nodded weakly, offering her a small smile. He opened the car door and exited, clicking it shut behind him. 

He looked at the cabin as Jo pulled away, gravel grinding against the car’s rubber tires. The cabin was old and run down. It didn’t exactly look like a romantic place for weddings, and Castiel had observed plenty of beautiful places to be. But he supposed any place with Dean would be romantic.

There was a twist in his gut, anxiety fluttering behind his belly button. His feet felt heavy as he tried to convince his legs to _move._ He’d spent so long on the sidelines just watching, never interacting, never sticking his hand in the water to test the temperature, that he’d been helpless. But now? Now he was human, and if he’d learned anything from his centuries of observation, it's that humans were not observers. They took action, and if he sat back and refused to act, he would lose Dean forever. 

That thought was enough to propel him to the front door, his curled fist colliding with the wood in three solid knocks. 

“That must be the pizza!” He heard Dean call from inside of the house. 

The sound of the love of his life’s voice made Castiel dizzy, his head light enough that he worried it would float away. He wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t rehearsed. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know how he would react seeing Dean without the heavenly veil between them. 

The door opened to expose Dean, wearing a gray T-shirt, jeans, and just his socks. His hair looked a little messy like he had been laying around, and he was holding cash between his fingers. He was smiling when the door opened, bright and welcoming, but as soon as he saw Castiel his expression faltered. The smile fell off his lips, mouth open, as if he was trying to catch his breath. “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean Winchester had no idea what to say. He was without words, and that was saying something. He always had some kind of comeback, but opening the door to find Castiel standing there had rendered him completely speechless. 

The angel looked… well he looked like shit if Dean was being honest. There was blood and dirt smudged on his face, matting his hair. His clothes were dishevelled. Dean had never seen him _not_ look put together. It was disorienting. He felt like he needed to pinch himself, to reach out and touch him to prove that he was real and not some kind of dream. “Cas?”

“Hello Dean.”

The low rough resonance of his voice sent chills down Dean’s spine, curling his toes in his socks. “What’re you doin’ here?” He found himself asking the question, when he really wanted to pull him into his arms and whisper _I am so glad you’re here._ But there was still time and space between them, an invisible barrier he couldn’t seem to cross. 

“I came to see you,” Cas said awkwardly. There was something distinctly different about him, like the _thing_ that made him so ethereal had melted away. “I am sorry to interrupt.”

He looked shy, looking up at Dean through thick dark eyelashes, making his stomach flip in response. He felt like a teenager again. He felt completely overwhelmed. “Interrupt what?”

“I… I was told you came here with _her._ ”

_Her?_

Then Dean’s stomach dropped. _Lisa._ He opened the door a little wider. “Come in.”

Castiel looked a little green at the lack of response from him, but stepped through the threshold. 

“Why’d you come here, Cas?”

“To see you.”

“Yeah, yeah I know that’s what you said, but if you thought I was here with Lis…” His voice trailed off as he felt he suddenly _saw_ Cas. He’d looked at him when he opened the door, sure, but he didn’t truly _see_ him. Dean hadn’t taken a chance to take Cas in, to really observe what he was seeing and process it. It couldn’t be. It was ridiculous. Outrageous. _Impossible._ But yet there he was, standing in front of Dean bloodied, broken, and vulnerable. “What did you do, Cas?”

“I hoped I would make it to you before you made any decisions. I had to at least try, Dean, because the idea of losing you is more than I can bear.”

Dean leaned against the counter and watched Cas stand there awkwardly. One of his shoes were untied and it sort of felt like he was this damsel in distress. Like he was just waiting for Dean to sweep him up. 

“I hope I am not too late,” Cas added, his voice desperate.

“Too late for what?”

He needed Cas to say it, to make it real. 

“I… it’s real, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. His fingers flexed at his side. “What we have. The way I feel… it’s real. You said you wanted to be with someone alive, and I heard you. I understood what kind of life we would have if I were an angel. It wasn’t fair for you to give up so much for someone who was not willing to give up just one thing to be with you.”

“What’re you sayin’, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice tight, his chest tighter. It squeezed with every beat of his heart, his body begging to close the distance between him and the angel. He felt he had been a fucking idiot this whole time. He may have had a half life with Cas, but at least it was something. As the angel stood in front of him, with glistening wet, blue eyes and trembling full lips, a half life didn’t seem so bad. 

“I did it, Dean. I fell.”

It was like the whole ceiling was crumbling. The world fell apart around him so the only thing that remained was _him_ . Castiel. The air was rushing in his ears, a deafening _woosh._

Castiel looked at Dean, terrified that it was over. He was too late. Dean was just _looking_ at him, his lips parted slightly. Castiel had made a mistake, and his heart cracked in his chest. _Is this what heartbreak feels like?_ He wanted to laugh at the prospect. He’d wanted to feel, after all. He just had only focused on the things he was excited to feel. Dean's hands, his lips, the way that he tasted, the pressure of his body against Castiel’s. He hadn’t planned for the bad things. He hadn’t planned for the ache of a broken heart, the throb of a cut on his face, the unthinkable possibility that Dean didn’t love him back. 

He hadn’t let himself consider these things because they were paralyzing. He didn’t want to be stuck any longer. He wanted to be free, and now that he had all the freedom in the world, next to Dean it all seemed so small and insignificant. Next to Dean, nothing else felt important. 

“Say something,” Castiel pleaded softly, begging for the end. He needed something to happen, anything to release the tension that coiled around him, constricting his muscles and lungs, even if it wasn’t the answer he wanted. Either way it would be over. 

“You said… You _fell._ Are you saying…” Dean was mumbling, uncertain, and his green eyes flashed up to Castiel’s as if he was asking Castiel to say it again. 

It took every breath from his body, every push that he had to bring the words back to his lips. “I am human, Dean.”

Evidently that was the answer that Dean wanted, because he let out a breathless word, single and quick. “Good,” he whispered, before closing the space between them. 

Dean’s strong arms wrapped around Castiel, pulling him into his chest. Dean kissed him, the pressure against his mouth almost painful from the cut on his bottom lip. The cut stung and throbbed, but it only took a moment before Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer. He wanted to cry out, to take more of Dean’s breath into his body. Their chests pressed against each other, and Castiel’s eyes stung. 

He couldn’t ever have imagined what it would feel like. He had no frame of reference, no comparison that could ever equal _this_ , and it was so overwhelming that Castiel wondered if he would ever feel anything like this again. Kissing Dean was what Castiel suspected it felt like to be born. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair; it was surprisingly soft. His skin was warm, sunkissed from running outside despite the cool Illinois air. His long eyelashes tickled against Castiel’s cheeks and a warmth pulsed through his chest. The heat traveled through him, starting at the base of his chest and spreading through him. It was what he imagined fire to feel like. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but whatever was in his mind previously was wiped away the moment Dean’s tongue touched Castiel’s bottom lip, asking permission to dig even deeper into him. 

_I think I know your soul, too._

Castiel knew, as Dean’s fingers rubbed along his back, under his tattered suit jacket, that he did. Dean knew him more intimately than anyone before, but as Castiel pressed against him, their noses brushing, and Castiel’s belt digging into his stomach, he knew he wanted more. He wanted Dean to know all of him, and he wanted to know all of Dean. 

They parted, Dean almost panting, with this stupid grin on his face that made Castiel’s stomach flip. “You son of a bitch, you really did it.”

“Well, I do not look this way for my own enjoyment,” Castiel said dryly, gesturing to his tattered appearance. 

Dean’s eyebrow shot up as a laugh bubbled in his chest, falling out of his lips in a way that was almost bouncy. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I was just being observant.”

“Of course,” Dean said with a snicker. 

They stood there in the doorway in an awkward, palpable silence, just staring at each other, and suddenly Castiel felt unbelievably naked. He folded his arms around himself protectively as the details that had floated away when Dean kissed him were resurfacing. “Where is Lisa?”

“Huh?”

“Jo told me that you came here to… to marry Lisa.” The words tasted sour on his lips. He almost choked on them, feeling that they were stuck in his throat. “Where is she?”

“She isn’t here, Cas,” Dean said, his face softening. 

“I heard you talking to someone, Dean.” Static peppered through him, his fingers twitching against his biceps. He wanted to kiss Dean. He wanted to be with him, but the last thing he needed was for Lisa to come out of the shadows and shatter the little bit of strength and resolve that he had left. 

“What? I wasn’t…” The familiar smile tugged on Dean’s mouth as some kind of connection was made in his head. He brought his fingers to his mouth then, sticking them between his lips, and whistled, sharp and quick. 

Castiel felt disoriented for just a moment, the loud, high-pitched noise striking his ears, but it was just a second before the sound of paws padding against the hardwood floated through the quiet air of the cabin. 

Sam ran into the room and right to Castiel, nudging his leg for pets. The dog's large chocolate eyes looked up at him questioningly, his head tilted to the side. Castiel knelt next to Sam and scratched under his chin. “Hello, Sam.” The dog licked his fingers in response. Castiel could no longer hear him. The link between the earth and him had been severed when he hit the ground, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. He nuzzled into Castiel’s touch, not needing words to convey what he was feeling. The silky fur against his now wet fingers made Castiel’s eyes sting again and a sob rose in his throat in a sudden rush of emotion. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said, crouching next to him. “You good?” His hand brushed the side of Castiel’s face and it sent him tumbling over the edge, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “Fuck.” 

“I am…” Castiel tried to begin, but the words seemed to tangle with his tongue. 

“‘Mere,” Dean murmured, pulling Castiel into his arms. “Get it out.” 

Wrapped in Dean’s arms, for the first time in his incredibly long life, Castiel crumbled into a thousand pieces, his heart cracking and letting out centuries of pain that he hadn’t realized he was carrying.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Castiel never expected crying to feel so good. The release of pressure in him, the pounding in his head, the deep, trembling intake of breath. It was increible. He was _alive._ “Dean,” he whispered, looking up at the man who was holding him. 

They were still on the floor, Castiel resting his head against Dean’s chest. He was nestled between Dean’s legs, his own twisted with Dean’s, his own arms around Dean’s middle. 

“Hm?” Dean asked, his fingers absentmindedly stroking Castiel’s arms. 

“I’m alive.” 

“Can’t believe it, Cas. Can’t believe you’d do this.” Castiel’s scalp tickled from Dean’s breath against his scalp. 

“I did it for you, for us.” 

“Shouldn’t have done that, Cas.”

“Why?” He asked tiredly, sitting up a bit more. He squinted at Dean through swollen, puffy eyes. “Don’t you want to be together?” 

Dean touched Castiel’s cheek, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb. “Course I want to be with you. I think it’s the only thing I know I _do_ want.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I just didn’t want you to give up your life for me.” 

Castiel wanted to laugh, the urge tickling the back of his throat, but he resisted. He didn’t want his words to come off as a joke. “Dean, you _are_ my life. Before, you said that we couldn’t be together because you’d be living a half-life…. I didn’t know it, but I was already living one. The life I knew was nothing. You were right. It isn’t the same when you can’t feel it.” 

“So we are really doing this?” Dean asked after a moment of silence, his thumb tracing Castiel’s lips.

“Yes,” he breathed against Dean’s thumb. “I suspect that we are.” 

He met Dean’s green eyes - they were bright, engaged, and moving as if he was trying to memorize the way Castiel looked, until they finally settled on Castiel’s lips. He pursed his lips against Dean’s thumb in a soft, loving kiss. He leaned up to kiss Dean, but a sharp, heavy knocking from the front door halted him. He sucked his breath in and looked at Dean alarmed. 

“It’s okay. It’s probably the pizza,” Dean said, wiggling out from under Castiel so he could answer the door. “You’ve gotta be starving.”

As if on cue Castiel’s stomach grinded in an angry growl. He touched his stomach, not able to define the feeling inside himself. 

Dean opened the door and greeted the delivery driver with pleasantries, paid him, and brought the box inside. He widely grinned down at Castiel. “This is going to blow your mind.” He offered a hand out to Castiel, who took it instantly, allowing Dean to pull him up. 

They walked to the kitchen, Sam on their heels, and Castiel settled at the table. Dean grabbed himself a bottle from the fridge and returned with a glass of water for Castiel and a plate with a beautiful, cheesy slice of pizza covered in toppings. The smell hit his nose and immediately he found his mouth watering. The crust was brushed with butter and garlic, the cheese was melting, and the toppings glistened with grease. 

Dean had already shoved a slice into his mouth and was chewing with full cheeks, but Castiel couldn’t stop looking at it. He had always found food odd, unpleasant, but he finally had the inkling of understanding as he looked down at that perfect slice of pizza. It was the holy grail. “Try it,” Dean said, his mouth full, sauce dribbling down onto his chin. Castiel smiled at him. He was so cute Castiel could hardly stand it. He had the sudden desire to see Dean as a child, chubby cheeked, with dirt on his nose and melted popsicle running down the back of his hand in a river of purple. 

Peeling his eyes away from Dean, he focused back on the slice and picked it up between awkward fingers. He watched Dean for a moment longer, stealing another glance as he examined how Dean held the slice in his hand, how big of a bite he took, before Castiel finally slipped the pizza between his lips. 

He hissed slightly as the cheese burnt his tongue, but the stinging on his tongue was quickly replaced with something so much better. _It tastes good._ It was revolutionary! He couldn’t imagine eating anything better. The grease wetted his fingers and his lips, and he looked up at Dean. “This is delicious.” 

Dean’s eyes lit up in response, Castiel would’ve thought he made it himself. “Man that’s good to hear. If you didn’t like pizza we would have an issue.” 

“Well I love it,” Castiel mused, taking another generous bite. 

“Good,” Dean said, taking a swig from his amber bottle. He was looking at Castiel then, really looking at him. “Does it hurt?” 

“Does what hurt?” 

Dean gestured to his cuts, specifically on his face, and Castiel nodded slowly. “Yes, but I presume it is due to my low tolerance. I do not think I am at risk of any permanent damage.” 

“Probably not,” Dean said softly with a smile. “But we should get you cleaned up anyway.” He finished off his slice and picked up his bottle, offering a hand to Castiel. 

He looked at Dean’s hand like he was holding out something precious, and it hit him with the same force as he’d hit the street when he fell. He was human. _Human._ He took Dean’s hand and their fingers laced together, fitting warmly. Dean squeezed his fingers and in turn his heart raced in his chest. 

It was an old hunter’s cabin, with taxidermy on the walls that watched the two men with glassy, marble eyes. Dean turned to the den that held an aged leather couch and chair along the edge of a large area rug in front of a lit fireplace. “Sit down wherever you’re comfortable.” It wasn’t until the heat of the fire made its way to Castiel that he realized he was _cold_. He didn’t have a name before for the prickling sensation on his skin, the chill that raised the hair on the back of his neck. So he walked and sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. He closed his eyes, enjoying the heat. 

He suddenly wondered why Dean had decided to be a firefighter. Castiel could see the draw from the warmth. There was a security to the flame, to warm a cold night and light the darkness, but that couldn't be it. That was a very rudimentary reason. 

Dean was back after a minute or two, holding his first aid kit and a bowl. “Why’re you on the floor, Cas?”

He gestured lamely to the fire, unable to form in words how much peace it gave him. Dean smiled, exhaling out of his nose in a quick rush of air. “Right.” He settled next to Castiel, placing the white plastic box and bowl next to him on the floor. The bowl was filled with water and a folded washcloth was settled at the bottom. Dean removed the washcloth, wringing it out before dabbing at Castiel’s face. The water was warm and soothing, but he still hissed a bit, recoiling from the pressure against his wound. “Sorry,” Dean said gently. 

“I am just not used to it.”

“Not sure you ever get used to it that much.” Dean continued to clean the wounds and the dirt from his face, dabbing gently, ever so often cleaning out the washcloth with clean water. His fingers hovered over Castiel’s lips, and his tongue darted out to wet his own. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Maybe we should check you out.” 

Castiel looked to Dean, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. “I am unsure.” 

“Take off the jacket,” Dean instructed, his voice low. 

He obliged, shrugging out of it. He found himself wincing as he jacket slipped over his shoulders. 

“Tell me where it hurts, Cas.” 

He looked to Dean and took his hand. He instructed Dean’s fingers across his shoulder, chest. “It is just uncomfortable.” 

Dean’s fingers caught the buttons on his shirt, undoing them with slow, precise movements. His eyes never left Castiel’s and more than ever he wanted to know what was inside Dean’s mind. His tie loosened, and Dean laid it down next to them on the rug. His heart picked up speed as he felt the heat from the fireplace on his bare chest. Dean pushed the shirt off and laid it next to his tie, then leaned in and examined his shoulder and chest. “You have some bruising, but I think you’ll live.” 

“Yes, I will.” 

Dean took Castiel’s chin between his fingers, this thumb tracing the length of Castiel’s jaw. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“Neither can I,” Castiel admitted. 

“How does it feel?” 

“What?” 

“Being human?” 

Castiel considered for a moment, searching Dean’s green eyes for the answer, combing for a word that he didn’t quite have. Dean would know how it felt, he was human after all. “It feels like how it always should have been.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said breathlessly. “I think so, too.” 

“Kiss me, Dean.” 

And he did. 

He leaned in, brushing his lips against Castiel’s, his hand moving behind his neck, twisting his fingers in his hair. The kiss was tender, soft, and warm. As Dean’s arms wrapped around him and the warmth from the fire heated their skin, he pulled Dean closer. 

The scruff on Dean’s jaw scraped against the base of Castiel’s neck as he left a trail of hot, wet kisses, his tongue tracing the length of Castiel’s neck. He could feel his mouth go dry, and his toes curled inside his loafers. His hands fumbled for the back of Dean’s t-shirt, his fingers inching up under the hem of the shirt. 

Dean sat up a bit straighter at Castiel’s touch, but he continued to inch his fingers up the length of Dean’s spine, the muscles in his back, and alongside his ribs. Dean planted a soft kiss to the bruise on Castiel’s shoulder, sending a pressing throb through his back and chest. “That hurt?” Dean asked quietly, his mouth still on Castiel’s skin. 

Castiel nodded a bit, unable to bring words to his lips, his head falling to the side to give Dean more access. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded quietly as Dean’s lips moved away from his skin. “It tells me that I’m human. It tells me that we get a life now. That I made the right choice.” 

They spent the night together like that, laying in front of the fire, tangled together. Dean got them pillows and blankets and they camped there on the carpet. Castiel told him that he liked the fire. He liked the way things felt. He told Dean that he liked it when he ran his fingers down Cas’ arm. He liked the goosebumps that prickled along his skin. 

They didn’t have sex, not then. He was worried it’d be too much for Cas. Too much _feeling._ No matter how much he wanted to and looking at the beautiful man next to him, glowing in the firelight, it was hard to think anything logical. He just had to remind himself that he had the rest of his life to be with Cas. What was the rush?

He spent the entire night getting to know Cas. The way his toes curled when he was overstimulated, and his eyebrows knitted together when he didn’t understand. He was so handsome it almost annoyed Dean. He kept pinching himself because he couldn’t understand how he was awake. 

“There’s so much I want you to try, Cas. _So much._ ”

“Like what?” Cas looked up at him with those big beautiful blue eyes, glowing with flecks of gold from the fire. 

“Pie, first of all. Croissants. Bacon cheeseburger. I want to take you swimming. I want to let you ride in the fire engine. We should make a list.”

The corners of his mouth tugged into a beautiful smile. “We can do that. You know I used to keep a list.”

“What kind?”

“When I would take souls to heaven, I would ask them what their favorite part was. Of living, I mean. I thought it was a way for me to understand them. To feel what they were feeling.”

“Did it work?” He ran his fingers along Cas’ arm, and he watched the hairs rise and his eyelashes flutter in response. 

“No. It was nothing like this.” He reached up and brushed Dean’s cheek with his thumb, making heat expand through Dean’s chest. 

“What about this, how does this feel?”

He wanted to know that Cas made the right choice. It was a huge one. It was an irreversible one. 

“It feels right.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Dean grinned down at him. He had never felt so insecure. He had never had something that he was afraid to lose. He had never loved anyone like this before. 

He leaned down and brushed his lips against Castiel’s. He couldn’t kiss him enough. The softness and warmth from his full lips felt different now. It was the twitch and response of feeling Dean’s lips against his own. When he was an angel the kisses were good, but he didn’t increase pressure when Dean did. He didn’t _feel_ Dean. It made all the difference. 

He wanted everything with Cas. Everything that he didn’t want with Lisa. He could see a life with Cas. He could see a future. He had come to the cabin to get some air - fresh, woodsy, and cleansing. He had needed time to grieve the death of him and Lisa. He had needed time to accept the fact that he would be alone, for real this time. 

The last thing he had expected was to find a broken and bleeding, human Castiel at his door, looking so fucking beautiful that it made his head spin. Suddenly the rest of the shit didn’t matter. It was Cas. It’d always been Cas. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool up until that point. 

“I didn’t tell you before.”

“Tell me what?”

Dean smiled at him. He could get lost in Cas’ deep blue eyes. “When you told me that you loved me. I didn’t tell you that I love you back.”

His angel looked surprised, his eyebrows shooting up and his lips parting. “You do?”

“Fuck, Cas. I love you like I ain’t ever loved anyone or anything. I love you like it’s forever.”

His eyes were wet along his lash line as he smiled up at Dean. “It is.”

They fell asleep like that, their legs tangled together on the floor, talking, kissing, and falling deeper in love without anyone or anything to stop them. 

The next morning they slept in, until Cas' growling stomach pulled Dean out of his sleep. He got up to shower, surprised by the mischievous look on Cas' face as he followed him to the bathroom. The water was hot, sudzy, and Dean was washing Cas’ back with a frothy loofa. “So I was thinking we can go into town for breakfast. I know this great little local place, awesome pancakes.” 

Cas hummed in response. Dean was learning that Cas _loved_ food, maybe as much as Dean did. He had so many things to try. They’d slept in that morning, waking up with the embers of fire still burning and glowing, the sun streaming through the blinds, creating a striped pattern on Cas’ bare chest. 

“How’s that sound, Sweetheart?” 

“Good,” Cas said, turning toward Dean and wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. His skin was slick and warm in the water. “It sounds good.”

“How’s it so far?” 

“What?” 

“Being human.”

“I’m rather fond of it,” Cas said cheekily, his nose wrinkling. 

Dean snorted and shook his head before placing a soft kiss on the tip of Castiel’s nose. “‘M glad.” He turned and leaned down, turning off the water. He stuck his hands out and pulled the large, fluffy beach towel off the counter and wrapped it around the two of them. Cas’ wet chest brushed against his own, and Dean felt his heart flutter. 

“How far away is the restaurant?” Cas asked, his face so close that his breath tickled Dean’s lips. 

“Not far. A few miles up the road.” He rubbed the towel along Cas’ back, drying his skin. 

“Can we walk?” 

Dean grinned at him. There was a childishness to Cas. It was his wide blue eyes, his inexperience. It didn’t matter what Cas asked him, he would say yes. Especially when they were pressed full flush against each other completely naked. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

“I did not get to enjoy the views on the way here. I was far too nervous.” 

“What were you nervous about?” 

“I thought you were here with her.” 

“Right.” Dean let out a sigh, and he squeezed Cas a little tighter. “I couldn’t marry her.. You were right. I didn’t love her. I was full of shit.” 

“You aren’t full of shit,” Cas protested softly. 

“I kept trying to pretend like the way I felt wasn’t a factor in all of this, when it was the only factor. Me and you. Sorry I wasted so much time.” 

“We won’t waste another moment,” he promised, kissing Dean softly. 

“Let's get you some breakfast.” 

“It is a date.” 

It was a date. Their first date, as far as Dean was concerned. Dean let Cas wear some of his clothes, a blue plaid button down that made his eyes pop and a pair of jeans. “You look too fucking good in my clothes, Cas.” 

His angel blushed in response. _Blushed_ and looked up at him under thick dark eyelashes. He never understood when women would call him cute. He didn’t think men were capable, but he was wrong. Cas was fucking adorable. 

The air outside was fresh, brisk, and it smelled like trees. Dean was walking with his hands in his jeans pockets, and his face turned up toward the cloudless sky. “Its a fucking beautiful day.” 

“It is.” Cas’ hand trailed along Dean’s arm, and he removed his hand from his pocket so he could lace his fingers with Cas’. 

“So, uh… You think you’ll come stay with me when we get back to Chicago? I mean, you can if you want to.” 

“I do not have anywhere else to go,” Cas said, and Dean could feel his eyes on him. 

“If you don’t want to stay with me I’m sure I can find…”

“I do. I want to stay with you.” Cas squeezed his hand, and Dean turned to look at him. “I do not want to spend any more time away.” 

“Good. Neither do I.” 

“I am afraid that I do not have any skills… I am not sure what kind of job I could qualify for to help with bills…” 

“Sweetheart you don’t have to worry about that yet,” Dean said with a laugh. “Just get used to the world, and we’ll figure something out.” 

They walked down the street, over a footbridge crossing a small creek and they turned onto a neighborhood street. He wasn’t focused on the scenery, however, he was focused on the beautiful man at his side, so when Castiel coughed softly at his side, he alerted him to the change in the air before his own lungs could respond. It wasn’t a new smell for him, after all. He was used to it: the smell of smoke. 

“Dean,” Cas pointed breathlessly towards something behind Dean. 

It felt like moving in slow motion as Dean’s body rotated, until he caught view of a house a block down the street up in flames. Black smoke was climbing toward the sky, threatening to muddle tits flawless blue. “Fuck.” 

His fingers left Cas’ as he began to run on instinct. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911, reporting the fire. He didn’t have the answers. The street, an approximate street address… was anyone trapped? He didn’t know. He hung up the phone and pushed forward more grateful than ever that he and Sam kept up with their runs. As he approached the yard the heat that radiated from the house was unbearable. He could hardly see inside the windows from all of the smoke.

All the neighbors seemed to be gathering on their lawns, gawking with their hands covering their shocked mouths. “Is the family home?” Dean asked, calling to the closest onlooker. 

“Just one lady lives there. That’s her car,” the older man said, his voice shaking. 

_Shit._

He turned back to the house. He had to go in. It was his duty, he was trained. The house looked like a ticking time bomb, and if there were people inside they would fry. He didn’t know how long it’d take the other firefighters to arrive. He was already on scene, it was stuipd to wait. It was stupider to go in, but that echo of a voice didn’t reach Dean Winchester’s ears. He was already walking right for the building. 

“Dean!” Cas called. “What are you doing?” 

“Gotta help ‘em, Cas. Wait for me, okay?” he called back as he turned the knob to the house. It was hot, and he could feel his skin immediately starting to blister and tighten. He backed up a bit and went at the door with a running start, slamming his shoulder into it. After a few tries he was able to break through the lock, his vision immediately obscured by a black cloud of smoke that spilled out the front door. 

Dean pulled the collar of his t-shirt up to cover his nose, trying to filter as much of the smoke as he could, and he crouched low. “Is anybody in here?” Against the roar of the fire he could hardly hear himself shout. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself, tried to remember that he usually did this shit with Jo chattering in his ear. He could do this. This was what he was trained for. 

He walked, not able to see much past an arms length in front of him. His shins bumped a side table and he cursed at the pain that shot through his legs. _Focus, Winchester._ There were clusters of fires everywhere, trailing from one room to another. The old house was just kindling for the flames. Fire will devour everything, it is meant to run and feed. Feed and destroy. 

“Hello! I am here to help!” he shouted out again before doubling over in a cough, the smoke burning his throat and squeezing his lungs shut. “Is there… is anyone there?” 

Maybe they were out for a walk. 

Except they rarely were, and Dean knew he couldn’t leave until he checked the entire fucking house. It would be easier if they called out, but he knew better than that, too. The woman was there, and he knew it. She had to be. 

He made his way to the stairs, his eyes burning and blurring from the smoke. He was spoiled by normally having his gear, and going in blind like this wasn’t ideal. He walked up the first few steps, continuing to call out, even though every exhale was bound to be followed with a burning inhale of smoke. On the third step the structure gave out, his leg crashing through the floor. The broken wood splintered and cut into his leg, and he hissed in pain. “Fuck.” He crouched down and pulled at the wood pieces, breaking them further to pull his foot back out. It was taking too damn long. He knew that. Fear pulsed through him and his chest tightened at the sudden realization that he may not walk out of the house. He couldn’t remember the last thing he said to Cas. He couldn't remember the last time they kissed. He sure as hell hoped he made it count. 

He gritted his teeth and yanked, ripping at his jeans and flesh below, and causing stars to litter his vision. He took just a second to steady himself before climbing up, taking care to watch his weight and favor his good leg. It was too late to turn back, not that he was the kind to ever turn back.

“Ma’am? Are you here? Can you hear me?” 

The fire was worse on the top level, the heat seeming to suck all of the energy from him. Sweat drenched his entire body, and his mouth felt like cotton. All he could taste was smoke and ash. It felt like it was coating the inside of his throat and lungs. He let out another strained cough, and stumbled forward. He couldn’t hear anything over the screaming and booming of the flames. 

He pushed open the first door that he could see. It wasn’t latched, so one shove from his shoulder sent it swinging open. The room was littered with fire, it rolled up the walls onto the ceiling. He saw nothing at first, so he pushed a little further into the room and finally saw a woman huddled in one corner, her arms wrapped tightly around a squirming and hissing cat with a singed tail. Dean let out a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Ma’am?” 

She looked up at him in horror, too afraid to speak, crippled there in her corner. 

“My name is Dean. I’m here to help you,” he said, stepping towards her. As he did the unstable floor groaned under his weight. He gritted his teeth. “What’s your name?” 

“Amara,” she said, her eyes welling in tears. 

“Amara, I’ve got you.” He held out his hand to her and she stood up. “Just be careful, the ground isn’t…” His voice halted in his throat as the cat managed to wriggle out of her arms and ran at him full speed. “Crowley!” Amara called out to the cat, and stumbled forward, rushing and grabbing for the animal. 

Dean tried to dodge her, move out of her way, but his weight pressed on his bad leg and he crumbled to the ground, crying out in pain.

As he hit the ground, the fire hissed and sizzled around him, and the ground gave out underneath him. He fell, suspended in the air for just a moment before the flames engulfed him, welcoming him like an old friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

_Five Weeks Later_

Castiel was stuck between two very strong beliefs. Part of him believed that things were never supposed to be this way. He was never supposed to be working at a gas station, refilling blue icee syrup so the children of Chicago could enjoy their ninety-nine cent forty-two ounce. The other part of him, however, felt that it would’ve always ended up this way. It was the part of him that always had faith. The part of him that still believed in the divine, deep down. He wanted there to be a plan, because even if the plan was truly this cruel, at least his pain wasn’t senseless, at least maybe there was someone other than himself to blame. 

He clicked the tube on the bib into place and turned on the icee machine, before taping a white piece of paper to it that read _I need time to cool down, but I’m worth the wait_ in thick black sharpie. He wiped the blue onto his jeans, his palms sticking slightly and coming back with a light layer of fuzz that he couldn’t bother to care about. 

“Clarence,” Meg called from behind the counter. Her blonde curly hair was down and falling into her eyes. She grinned and wiggled her fingers at him. They were coworkers. She liked him because he was _weird_ , in her words. He suspected he was indeed weird, but he didn’t know much he could do about that. 

“Yes?” 

“Your shift is over. Get the fuck out of here. Have a good night, unicorn.” 

He removed his apron and hung it back on his hook on the wall, then pumped some hand sanitizer into his hands to try to rub away the fuzz stuck to his skin. Outside, the spring evening was cool, and he tried to find any kind of pleasure in it. 

He pulled the small book from his pocket and the pen from behind his ear. He clicked it a few times, faintly smiling to himself, and wrote into the book before closing it and sliding it back into his pocket. 

He knew that pain was a part of the human experience, and it was what he had signed up for, but there were some days that felt so unbearable. It came in waves, never quite dulling enough for him to forget that it was there. 

It happened so fast that he hadn’t really realized it until moments after it actually happened. The firemen said the fire got to the gas line in the kitchen causing an explosion. All Castiel heard was a loud _boom_ and the windows busting, flames licking up toward the sky. He didn’t realize he’d fallen until he felt the grass tickling his nose. Dean was in there. The love of his life was in there. He could hear the sirens, but they sounded far away. He wanted to run into the building, but his legs were frozen. He could hear the cracking of the wood as the house collapsed, piece by piece. 

He still heard that sound in his nightmares. 

He would wake up in a cold sweat, gasping, and reaching for Dean, but Dean wasn’t there. He’d roll over and breathe in Dean’s scent from his pillow. He hadn’t known before that Dean smelled like a mixture of soap and cinder. He yearned to nuzzle against his neck and drown in that scent.

He yearned for a lot of things. 

He worked close to the apartment. He figured that was the best option since he didn’t drive, and his sense of direction was non-existent. He hadn’t bothered trying to navigate the trains, so he learned the few places he needed to go - work, the station, the hospital, and he walked. Plus, on his way he typically found another thing to write down on his list. He made a vow to try everything that he could so he could write it down and tell Dean about it. If they couldn’t make the list together, he would make it alone. 

He fell for Dean. There was no sense in pretending there was any other reasoning, but he had to continue to live for himself. He had to not waste the chance at a life, even if his heart was cracking in his chest with every breath. Even if some days he wouldn’t get out of bed if Sam wasn’t nudging at him for a walk and a bathroom break. It was bleak at times, but every moment his faith wavered Gabriel would slap his shoulder with cold, under oxygenated hands, and give him the widest grin. _“Have faith in him, Castiel. You don’t have to have faith in God, but have faith in Dean.”_ He was right. Castiel knew that much to be true, but he was also learning that there wasn’t a lot of logic attached to human feelings. The way he felt when he left Dean was the worst he’d ever felt, each time just a little harder. Every time felt like it could be the last time. 

He unlocked the door to the apartment and entered. All the lights were off, and when they were he could almost picture that everything was alright. He closed his eyes and pressed his back against the closed door. He spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about the life they could’ve had. He thought about that perfect night in the cabin and how they deserved a thousand more just like it. He wanted to watch Dean grow old, and he wanted to grow old next to him. 

He was supposed to wake up after four weeks at the longest. They needed to let the swelling in his brain heal, his burns, so they put him to sleep. They inserted a tube into his throat and let the machines breathe for him. Dean was a hero. If it wasn’t for him that woman would’ve died inside her home. People kept telling him that, but he didn’t need Dean to be a hero… Cas just needed him to wake up.

He could feel the wetness of Sam’s nose against his fingers, and then the soft warmth of his tongue licking between his fingers, cleaning off any left over icee syrup. “Good boy,” Cas whispered, his voice sounding broken. Every day that passed that Dean didn’t wake up, Cas felt a little more hopeless. He’d been out for five weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes. Each second seemed to crawl.

A pair of eyes on him felt like a pressure on his chest. It was a presence, and at the feeling he thought he was going to throw up. “I know you’re there,” he said hoarsely. _Hannah_. He would recognize her anywhere. Even without seeing her. “Please leave.” 

When he finally opened his eyes he saw her perched on the arm of his couch with her legs crossed. She wore the same drab gray suit that she always wore, and she pushed a limp lock of hair behind her ear. “Castiel.” 

“I prayed to you.” 

Dozens of times. Every night on the hospital roof he prayed to her, then to his father, then to anyone that would listen. He prayed for a miracle, but he better than anyone should have known that miracles weren’t real.

“I heard you.” 

“You didn’t answer.” 

“There was nothing I could do for you Castiel. You know that.” 

She looked stiff, statuesque. He’d never noticed before. His eyes stung at the comment, and he cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” 

He felt the corners of his mouth curl in distaste. “Why is that?” 

“I am afraid I can not stop wondering how you are coping. How are you coping?” 

“As well as can be expected,” he said tightly. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault that things ended the way they did, but he still felt the need to blame someone, and his disconnect with his grace made the anger turn toward Hannah. 

She stood and walked toward him, and he finally noticed the pained curiosity in her eyes. She grabbed his hand, and he looked down at her in response. “What is it like?” She asked suddenly, intensely. 

He let out a heavy sigh. “What is what like?” 

“Warmth.” 

A ball rose in his throat, emotion pressing against his Adam's apple. Pain from Dean’s absence, and a paralyzing guilt for reveling in the fact that he could even feel that pain in the first place. “It’s wonderful.” 

Hannah sucked in her breath in response and gave a swift nod. He wasn’t sure if that was the answer she was wanting. “Castiel?” 

“Yes?” 

“Would you have done it if you knew that everything would turn out this way? Would you have still chosen to fall?” 

He looked down at their hands. Hers was so small in his, cold and unmoving. He pressed his lips together and thought of Dean. His hands were warm, rough, large enough to cradle his own. They were the hands of a man that held the world. He swallowed back the sob that was still growing, fighting the sting in his eyes. He wouldn’t give up on Dean, but every second he felt further and further away from him. He’d flown too close to the sun, and now he was paying for it. “Yes. To feel his touch… the warmth of his kiss, to know what it feels like to love him and be loved by him was worth any pain I am feeling now. No matter what happens. I will never wish to not have this humanity, to not have had those brief moments where Dean and I were the same.” 

She looked taken aback. Her eyebrows shot up, and her hand went limp in his. “I am sorry you are in pain. Maybe he will wake up…” 

“Hannah,” he said, holding up his hand. “I can’t hear it. Not from you. I’m sorry. The odds are not good. It hurts to have hope just to have it ripped away every morning when he is still asleep.” He shook his head and sucked in his breath through his nose. The stinging in his eyes was unbearable, and he felt tears well up. 

He had seen patients on ventilators before. He’d taken some to Heaven himself. There was no worse pain than seeing Dean, the strongest man he’d ever known, the man who would willingly run into fires, be kept alive by tubes and wires. He looked so small in that hospital bed. Castiel had been in existence for thousands of years, but Dean had only had a few decades. He was just getting started. It wasn’t fair. 

“Am I being punished?” 

“Castiel,” she said, her voice softening. “You know it doesn’t work that way.” 

“It feels like it.” 

“God would not punish you for exercising the free will that he gave you.” 

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe you,” Cas snapped, shaking his head. “Dean doesn’t deserve what happened to him. He doesn’t deserve… and all because I was so selfish.” 

“Castiel, you didn’t cause this. You didn’t set that fire.” 

He looked down at his hands, his jaw tightening. “Just… just go, Hannah. Please.” 

When he looked back up she was gone. He no longer felt the pressure of her gaze. He was completely alone. He slid down the wall and sat with his face in his hands. 

Sam laid on the ground beside him, resting his head on Cas’ feet. He reached down and scratched the dog behind his ear. Sam whined in response. “I know. I miss him, too.” 

He felt the buzz of his phone against his hip, and he dug into the pocket answering the phone. “Hello?” 

“Cas?” 

“Gabriel?” Castiel sat up a little straighter. “Is everything alright?” 

“You need to come to the hospital, now.” 

“I am on my way.” 

He didn’t need to ask questions. He just needed to go. He clipped Sam’s leash on him and ran out of the apartment. He barely got the door shut on his way out. 

Castiel was in no way physically fit. Apart from his walks, he didn’t spend any time exercising, but after the call from Gabriel he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, Sam keeping pace with him easily. His lungs screamed out for air, his legs burning, and sweat was rolling down his face, settling in his armpits, and down the back of his neck. It hurt. Everything hurt. His body, his soul, and his heart, but with every excruciating breath he was so happy to be alive. He had been honest with Hannah about that at least. Being with Dean made everything worth it. If he’d never met Dean he never would have fallen. He never would’ve known what it was like to be alive. 

Castiel entered the hospital with Sam and ran straight to the elevators, slamming the button to the third floor. He leaned his back against the wall as the elevator doors shut. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He wasn’t sure he could take any more pain. He was already far over the line of what he thought he could handle, and every time he thought he’d had enough, he had to wince and push through another round of disappointment and heartbreak. He needed something solid to hold onto. 

Ever since the accident Castiel had been trying to find ways to simulate the feelings that being around Dean gave him. He’d asked Dean’s friends, Gabriel and anyone who would listen, what it felt like to be in love. What they could compare it to. 

The closest he got was when Jo walked with him to the park. “Lie down,” she’d instructed him, her hand gripping the yellow bar on the merry-go-round. The thing looked like a death trap, a giant metal circle with peeling paint and handlebars. He followed her instructions and crawled to the center and laid on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky. It reminded him of that last day when they were walking to the breakfast they would never have. Jo started to push, and the world slowly began to spin. 

His heart rate picked up immediately, nerves rising in him and he reached blindly for something to hold onto but the handlebars were just out of reach. The sky seemed to swirl above him as he went around and around. He tried to reach up for a cloud that entered his vision, but gravity had captured his arms, pressing them down against the metal. He let out a pained laugh that he couldn’t bear to hold in anymore. He was in the center of a storm and somehow he felt like he was spinning and standing still all at once. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and when it finally stopped he sat up and the world tilted on its axis. The sky ended up where the ground was, and he vomited all over Jo’s shoes. 

It was the closest he’d ever gotten to being able to put words to the way that he felt, but even then it didn’t feel like enough. At least when he threw up the pain and nausea dissipated. There was no cure for the pain he was in now. The pain he might always be in. 

The elevator beeped and the doors opened. He rushed to room 302 to find Jo standing outside, her arms crossed tightly at her chest. Her eyes brightened a bit when she saw him. “Cas.” 

“What’s going on?” He asked breathlessly. 

“See for yourself.” Jo opened the door in what felt like slow motion. Sam tugged hard at his leash, and Castiel dropped it. The dog rushed through the door and Cas’ heart leapt into his throat. 

“Sammy!” 

He opened his lips and a trembling sob escaped his throat. Before he knew it, Jo’s hands were at his arms, supporting him. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. 

He could hear Gabriel laugh. 

“I can’t believe you’re here. Never thought they’d let you come in here.” 

“I’ve gotta say it’s impressive. Your nurse isn’t going to let it slide for long, though,” Gabriel explained with a snicker. 

“He’s...?” Cas asked, his voice barely audible. 

“Yes,” Jo promised. She rubbed his back a few times. “He’s been asking for you.” 

Castiel took a deep breath and Jo’s hands left him, and he stepped through the threshold into the hospital room. 

How does it feel?

It fucking hurt like a bitch. 

Dean Winchester laid in his hospital bed, groggy and weak. His dog had leapt onto the bed and now laid with his head on Dean’s lap, back where he was always meant to be. His voice was hoarse and it felt like he’d been in the desert without water. He was surprised to wake up to Gabriel sitting next to him. 

_“Thought you hated hospitals.”_

_“I do,” he said with a grin._

_“Then why are you here?”_

_“You visited me. Only fair to return the favor,” he said with a shrug._

Jo was there, too, with a scowl and soft eyes. He could tell she was worried, even though she just made jokes and punched his shoulder. _“You’ve always gotta be the center of attention, don’t you?”_

He looked to the door. “Cas,” he said hoarsely. His throat was burning from the intubation, and it felt like no matter how much water he drank he could never get the itch to go away. 

His eyes settled on his angel, and damn it he was just as beautiful as Dean remembered him. He could see his blue eyes sparkling from across the room, even in the fluorescent lights. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, his voice weak and pained. 

“What’re you doin’ all the way over there, Sweetheart?” He was weak, and Jo had stuffed five pillows behind him to keep him sitting up, otherwise he worried that he’d fall over. He hadn’t looked in the mirror, but if he looked remotely how he felt, he looked like shit. 

Dean opened his arms for Cas to come to him. Cas walked to him, almost falling into his open arms, and Dean wrapped them around him. “Sorry I made you wait on me.” 

“I’ve already waited centuries for you. What is another five weeks?” Cas asked with a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You still feel me?” He asked, low enough for only Cas to hear, his lips against Castiel’s ear, and his hands rubbing Cas’ back.

He nodded, and Dean could feel Cas’ fingers curl into his hospital gown at his hips. 

“Jo said you’ve been workin’.” He’d woken up blurry eyed and choking on his tube, looking for Cas, only to find Gabe trying to talk him into relaxing. If Dean was being honest, he thought he’d died. He thought he was choking on dirt, and that Gabe was there to take him. Once the doctor removed the tube from his throat, he realized that he wasn’t dead - far from it in fact. 

_“Somebody must’ve been praying for you,”_ the doctor had said to him.

“I work at the Quick Stop on the corner.” 

“You wear one of those aprons?” Dean asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. Exhaustion aside, seeing Cas gave him a spark. It lit a light inside of him that was burning brighter the longer they were touching. 

“Yes,” Cas said, pulling back, his eyes still red and wet at the rim. His head tilted in confusion and a twinge of nostalgia pulled at his heart. 

“Didn’t think I had a bag boy fetish, but fuck maybe I do.” He grinned widely, and Castiel smiled a tiny bit, his cheeks growing pink. “What else have you been doin’ Cas?”

A look of recognition flashed across his blue eyes and his expression softened. “Let me show you,” he said as he dug in his pocket. 

Dean’s eyes flickered from him to Jo and Gabriel who gave him a quick wave before slipping out of the room. Cas handed him a small, worn notebook. The pages were curled and tinted blue. It felt unbelievably heavy in his hands. “What’s this?” 

“You said that you had so many things to show me. We needed to make a list.” 

“Right.” Dean nodded knowingly. “And this?” 

Cas reached forward and tapped the cover with his index finger. “This is my list. I wanted to be able to describe things to you when you woke up. I wanted.. I wanted to know what it felt like to be you. What you’ve experienced. Read it. You’ll see.” 

It took everything for Dean to drag his eyes away from Cas’ face. He wanted to memorize every bit of him, but he nodded. They had time. He looked down to the notebook and opened the cover. 

How does it feel? 

_Bacon cheeseburger -- warm, juicey, messy, with a crunch._

“I asked you to describe the croissant you were eating that day by the lake. So I tried… since you couldn’t be with me when I did these things, I wanted to describe them to you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the words.” 

How does it feel?

Dean’s words caught in his throat, and he ran his finger along the words in Cas’ messy scrawl. Pages and pages of words, phrases, details of the life Cas had lived over the last five weeks. 

_Stitches -- painful, sting, a pulling sensation, lightness to my stomach if I watch._

“You had to have stitches?” 

“I cut my finger,” Cas said sheepishly and held up his hand. A thin pink scar ran down the middle of his index finger. “I was attempting to make your lasagna.”

“Maybe it’s cursed,” Dean said softly before his eyes scanned back down to the page. 

How does it feel? 

_Sunset -- empty._

“You gave up so much…” The inside of his nose burned as he felt a whole new pain bubble inside him. He was supposed to take care of Cas, and he’d failed. “I left you alone.” 

“Keep reading,” Cas urged, his hand resting on Dean’s knee.

_How does it feel?_

His eyes scanned the words. Each carefully crafted letter and explanation. His finger trailed across ketchup stains and grease drips, droplets of blood and icee syrup. Nothing was particularly exciting. Cas hadn’t bungee jumped, or seen the ocean. He hadn’t been to see a band or got wasted at a bar, but each experience was crafted in a way that made it just as special. It was the log of a child experiencing the world for the first time. It was completely unique, it made his chest ache, and his free hand found Cas’, squeezing it gently. 

“I’ve been trying to find the words to describe the feeling on the back page,” Cas explained. “But I haven’t found the words.” 

Dean flipped to the page in question, his lips parting and forming the words as he read them. 

_Love --_

He had dozens of words crossed out on the page. Scratched out like none of them were quite right. 

_Love -- like spinning and not being able to find a fixed location to watch._

_Love -- pressure in my chest._

_Love -- when Dean looks at me._

_Love -- stomach flutter, heart racing._

_Love -- dreaming._

_Love -- like nothing else matters._

They were all crossed out, leaving only the center word _love_ alone in a sea of black scribbles. 

“Looking at you now, though,” Cas whispered shyly, “I think I know.” He pulled out his pen and wrote in a free space on the top of the page, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he focused on making the text legible. It was upside down, so Dean had to turn the book to read it. 

“Cas,” he said breathlessly. 

_Love -- It feels like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to read this piece! It's been a labor of love and I hope it brings you all as much joy as it brought me to write it. 
> 
> Love you all.


End file.
